and I'll never be

but

sometimes, for reasons I don't fully understand,

I give myself to

it for a day, suck on

it suck on it tilt it back

suck some more

that little

voice inside my head

receding, when it

becomes a whisper kill

it with a double shot

of Jack, whole body quivers, my neck becomes limber

in tune with the music

everything goes

auto pilot and maybe

it's good and some woman

and I dance and share secrets in a corner booth

she takes me home and

breakfast in the morning, maybe

I puke on her and they kick me out

of the bar, if I'm lucky I sleep in my backseat,

maybe I drive and swerve and upside

down on the median at 34th

and Grand or I walk and walk and lurch, stumble, come to, soiled

in the Quick Trip restroom - many times -

my eyes crack to a white ceiling, always a white ceiling

and a stainless steel pisser in jail.

If I had to get philosophical

I'd say the smell of myself gets to be too much sometimes and it's like

a garter snake shedding his skin against an Oak tree. But, it's not really like that.

either way, I'm good again

for now