The Bottom

Drowning
Gasping
Swallowing gulps of
Desolation

I had a life jacket
Ripped it off
Was so
Constricting

It kept me from swimming

Who knew

I just needed to keep afloat

Now
Sinking to
The Depths

Eyes glazing
over
Pulse slowing
Heart faltering

I will never
See
The Sun Rise
or Set
Again

I did this to myself

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They Won’t Love You Less If You Don’t Make A Mess

all the skeletons
sitting quietly in my closet
piled one atop the other
neat and organized
collecting dust in storage

are others
as orderly as mine

or
are they a haphazard mess
femurs and fubulas
tumbling tibias
scattered scapulas
avalanching out in a chaotic cacaophony
whenever someone
merely
jiggles
the knob

not sure
but the idea
bothers me

no

its best to keep
these things
trim and tidy

should a stranger
peek in

They’ll see
only
winter coats
rain boots
and stacks of
nothing
important

Bar America 2011

I wanted wisdom
but the filmy eyed bar woman – missing teeth… loosened flesh
gave me a beer

I tipped it back
expecting answers

none came.

Laughter
Cigarettes
Patsy Cline

huh… he likes Patsy Cline

Another bottle emptied
And Willie sings to me

from the jukebox

On the road again

It’s all so sad.
So heart-wrenchingly painful

Going places that I’ve never been

But I swig another
I dance a little
I glance at the tiny grandmother – smiling – calling me a taxi

random thought –

I was not meant for beauty

But I happened to get a taste
For a moment

Seeing things that I may never see again

And it was better than the bottle after bottle
I’ve held to my lips

A stranger pays for my cab
A friend calls me from home
A bed catches my stupor

And all I can think about
is the old woman who handed me a drink
and asked how I was doing

“I’m doing fine.”

as always.

…. And I can’t wait to get on the road again

San Antonio 2011

thought i was tired
smoking my last cigarette
in a city
not my own

watching another pack of stray dogs stroll stridently
tongues hanging loose
without a care

wonder what they’re thinking.

little bubble pops in my head
i wish i was a four-legged nomad
nonchalantly trotting along
with my gypsy canine counterparts

i’m not.

more like driftwood
always have been –
floating along
going where the tide takes me.

damn near burn my fingertips
on a bad habit
that does nothing to quell anxiety

night is done

alone
at sea
i will crash upon a shore

maybe
someone will snatch me up

carve me
into something useful
maybe even
beautiful

doubtful.