Blood and Urine

I would tell her the only

Thing I believed in

Was the grave.

Which was true

And much more real when

I was drunk and fucked up.

Blacked out.

{

Dying a little faster

Than I should’ve been.

{

Then resurrected and

Flushed of color like

A June gloom morning.

{

Skin like needles pushing

Outwards and I’d swear

The bottle wouldn’t touch

My lips again.

{

“You’re so full of shit”

{

But at the time I wasn’t.

{

The limit was reached until

Sobriety returned and I’d

Push again.

..

She’d tell me I was going

To end up sad and lonely like

All these other writers.

{

In the back of my mind I

Thought different but I

Didn’t know how to

Express it.

..

This work was born from one

More failed relationship and

The determination to continue

On towards the casket that was

Promised and get something

Done in between it.

{

We don’t all have to be bitten

By sorrow and we can’t

Always be kissed by bliss.

{

Circumstance is what it is and

It all depends on how we can

Filter it out.

{

I told her once she was with

The real thing.

A true head tripper.

A sincere man of letters.

{

One more American dreamer

Amongst the thousands.

..

I woke up this morning

Knowing just what to do.

{

Continue –

{

My chemical brain flows

With purities and toxins.

Black lungs absorb oxygen

And too much nicotine.

This racing heart gallops

Alive as ever.

The stomach still stands

As a steel wall.

{

I’ve danced to the chaotic

Orchestra of life thus far

And remain standing.

{

I’ll rise tomorrow with a

Different sound to

Move amongst and if it can

Be done I’ll order up

Something new to note.

{

For now, the work is complete.