Friday, June 24, 2005

The Breaking (2002)

That night:
the shatter & melt

glass filled with ice
slipped from my hand.

I mean, I was
just flaking in a booth, dimlit bar,
3 friends,
drugs between us making mistakes

didn't want to know
your whereabouts
how you were captured
what painkillers stomached
what beds caught you
when you fell.

I fell till 10am,
riding cabs, throwing money;
crashed some dirty recovery...

glued to a girl,
dosed up & vodka'd,
flapping mothlike at the lights,

Played dumb, played

& in her eyes,
death that pretty young thing,
saw a way in.

An earlier version of this poem was published in Page Seventeen, issue #3, April 2006.

1 comment:

  1. Fucking awesome! Can't wait to see it in print.

    Btw, I just love the way your characters treat money in your poems .. always being hastily discarded in exchange for guilty pleasures.