Somebody

​

"A cigarette without a beer, is half a cigarette," he said as we stood atop the ashes of family and our last earthly remains.

 

I was somebody destined to be

just some BODY.

 

Discarded tires like cotton fever, the mosquitoes buzzed from my arm to his, our blood mixing inside their little insect stomachs.

​

"I was once deranged," I said,

 

no shoelaces, doing the Thorazine shuffle.

​

"You're not a stranger, here" he said, eyes dilated, trying to convince me of something.

 

Pyramid schemes and multi-level marketing dreams

​

we pressed pills and funeral flowers

 

rolling-paper pages ripped from our family Bible:

​

The ancient Romans buried their trash, so much so, that it raised the elevation of the city.

 

Rising water lifts all ships, we debated Trickle Down Economics, tabloid pages and other ambient misinformation.

 

"Did you know that loneliness activates the pain circuitry of the brain," I said.

​

I'd never been so awake:

 

Uncut, unmediated reality, screwed into my skull,

 

fentanyl patches

and adderall

​

downing Prazoin to neuter my dreams.

​

I drank to deal with my drinking:

 

Morning pint, a sunrise in reverse;

 

The texture of the city, the dope boys and dollar store robberies,

 

it was like pulling up beside a car listening to the same song as you.

​

It was the unsettling sensation of knowing what was about to be said, before it was said.

 

Like puddle-water pulled into a syringe,

 

or fifty cent Hams beer.

​

It was as if all of this had happened before,

if only

in another time and place.