Backseats, Vodka.

I felt myself melt

into street crack weeds

slowly seeping into city gutters

evaporating under the street lamps

turning to mud while mixing with roadside fifth

the incline has me meander under the feet of strangers, following them to the ends of the ends

stinking like a vagrant and feeling like the drunkeness saint incarnate.

In the morning

now incorporated

however something was missing

pieces of my brain or heart or soul

or something like that

and soon enough the other parts of me

found their way to a ceramic drop off

and my body was exit only

I reserved myself to a sweat bed of convulsions.