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,
kamikaze.
Played dumb, played
dead
& 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.
Fucking awesome! Can't wait to see it in print.
ReplyDeleteBtw, I just love the way your characters treat money in your poems .. always being hastily discarded in exchange for guilty pleasures.