Thank you, Mr. Scorsese

Hey, all my fellow depressives out there,

Got a movie recommendation I’d like to share.

If you’re in the hole, it’s something to see.

“The Last Waltz”, by Martin Scorsese.

Fell back in the hole after a dinner recently.

The kind you attend to see and been seen.

Truth be told, I’m better off in a diner.

Don’t know shit about make-up or interior designers.

The women there like a Sundance catalogue come alive.

Meanwhile, these shoes on my feet been going on five.

Got lost among the men outside, talking hedge funds.

If climbing the ladder don’t matter, what do I do with these rungs?

Cause that’s what I’m after: getting at something bearable.

Either I work on getting out of bed, or on what’s wearable.

Wanna be a baller, not this out-of-step broad,

But when I hit “Share”, I falter. End up a digital fraud.

These are some of the thoughts been eating at me,

Ever since I’ve started posting shit on IG.

If all the world’s a stage and some of us are players,

Than the rest of us are ushers, janitors, and valets.

Me, I sweep up the floor after the show,

I’m smoking a bowl in the parking lot, while they sit in third row.

My life like a bad game of pick-up-sticks,

Did everything good end in 1976?

Then this musical miracle---where have you been?

Pulled me out of the hell I was in.

Reminded me of this other-worldly guy: my M.D.

He can move rivers with words, just like Robbie.

And, then there’s Mr. K., sprung from another realm,

Wily. A fighter. Just like Levon Helm.

And I know a young lass, just gave away all her riches.

The camber of her shoulders, well, reminds me of Joni Mitchell.

Got a circle of knuckleheads with whom I trespass,

Like Danko, Manuel and Hudson, we’ve had some blasts.

Got another friend, J., she’s so pure and true.

In shadow, she’s that unassuming girl, Emmylou.

Then there’s this jackass I love, C. He’s so good to his daughter.

Been battling the sell-out demons. Softened to him listening to Muddy Waters.

So, maybe there is still some hope to be had.

Out among the losers and the dorks: the 2.0’s of The Band.

So, thank you, Mr. Scorsese, for giving me a hand.

You can’t know how much I needed that twirl around Winterland.