And several beers

And cigarettes. 

 

I gave some to the homeless 

I couldn’t understand him

He was missing a fingertip 

 

And the other hugged me

I told him I had no money

And he pointed to the the ATM

 

I told him

“Hey chief I gave you a cigarette”

He broke off the tip and I won’t know why

I offered him a light but he had his own. 

He wanted cash but I gave him none. Am I a bad person. 

 

And we meandered out way to hotel room. 

I took all of

My clothes

Off

And shaved

And brushed

My teeth

 

But I still tasted the tar of camels

And the bitter beer

And very vaguely them Douglas firs and that good clean moist air and the dirt that wouldn’t come out of my fingernails and my hair. 

 

It was the wilderness I left and Baltimore 

Where I know nothing. 

I will always know nothing. 

We are closer to Canada. 

There is no Tito’s at the bar

There is no shiner bock on bottles

Or draft

So we will drink your local beers

We will get drunk on it

We will walk through your fog

I will stumble. 

I will want a cigarette and I will piss on your streets and I will be sorry. 

And then I will sleep in a bed for the first time in five days

And wake up and drink some more

Drink even more

Than I did before. 

This is a shock. I kept pouring you see, and when those subtle moments were right you would rest your arm or your hand on me. I made your drinks. We laughed. 

 

It was a dollar a cigarette. One whole U S of A dollar. I bought ten. An expensive pack. Don’t forget that bottle. I won’t say the price. Canadian whiskey. I drank a lot and maybe got my money’s worth. Now this is a relapse. Now this is me falling back down. And I have the bruises to prove it. You gave them to me. I feel them now. Sore. Throbbing. Tender. Erect. Or is that something else. 

 

I drove. Drunk but I didn’t let anyone know. This is that righteous flashback. It’s real. I’ll have to remind that to myself. Drunk and rough and I taste the tear in my lip and my shoulder hurts. My chest too. Those bites are familiar. They take me back. Young and dumb. God damn this is a night. 

 

We won’t talk about it. I know that. And now I’ll be alone like I often am and I’m going to think about it all over again. It’s a relapse. A reprise. And it’s beautiful and it hurts and I love it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m covered in your hair and I still smell like you which doesn’t quite make sense but not a lot is making sense and I had a headache from the beer you brought because it always gives me headaches. 

There’s also that taste of cigarettes and a cough that has become a recurring trend but I don’t mind not even the least bit.

I’m stuck in the same loop of thought that was before but deeper now, reaching different heights, making me nauseous but I keep going, down and down and down and down. 

Going down. 

You make yourself seem so rough, so rough, covered in striations that are covered in striations old with fresh, about boys which is the worst. 

You smile so much I don’t think you realize how much you smile.

You think you’re a broken doll. 

I think you’re alright.

Maybe you are a broken doll. 

I think you’re all right.