at half baked alley,
done to a crisp
in other worlds... fried.
Chewing my tongue
in tied died fashion
of yesteryear's fad...
where did the time go?
Slurred melt down
in tinkling slug trickles
just this side of trite...
neat napkin wipes the chatter,
the highs have come in,
grandiose clamor...
the lows are coming up soon.
Water me down with vitamins
(no B12) and melatonin. I need
sleep and nightmares to remind
me why I'm alive... to awake?
The dead of night is corrugated
in thirst and dread, no time
for cleansing thoughts
in this hour... maybe tomorrow...
as the cigarette glowers in the dark.
I retreat to the porch surrounded
by night prowlers... even the skunk
smells sweet as words dance as demons-
so haunt, I capture and scribble.
Violent tapping at words inscrutable
in the glare of an appleshine
no need for lights, the dark of the soul
knows it's way in the purging.
Tomorrow's chirping will hold
the promise of a new day, a chance to change,
no bull like red bull (it's the B12) and
hot shower, boots and erasure,
demons exercised, the freshness
of uncooked food... sustenance in sunshine...
The nights will be the same.
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