timecapsuled.

wild bill is a friend of my father's
from a time, i imagine, he
has trouble forgetting
despite the chemical influence
on his neurons.
wild bill,
i haven't known him
by any other name,
still wears his hair long
and tied with a torn
t-shirt, smells not of
patchouli, but another musty
sixties smell,
believes rock and roll
holds as much truth
as the joint he shares
with my father on
random occasion
front step visits ten years
unexpected.