Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.

Monday, December 12, 2011

sometimes anymore the only sense I can make out of anything

At bottle works
(a restaurant)
A bit fancy for my sub-working class blood
But hey we are going out tonight
We are treating ourselves
You are already a bit drunk
And have just got the word ‘cunt’ tattooed inside your lip.
I am drinking a draft beer
With my traditional looking cherry blossom just tattooed
On my left fore-arm,
The bandage just off.
I am starting to watch the lights have streaks and tracers
And gradually feeling uneasy
Eating my vegetarian chicken enchiladas.
We leave after saying goodbye to my friend
The busboy, jennifur
Talking of potential solidarity actions.
We start the drive across town to see the movie
Pick up some beer
Man the lights are really starting to buzz
And my limbs feel detached from each other.
You pick up on this through some marvelous intuition
Ask how I’m feeling
‘pretty out of it’ I say coyly
And in a few minutes it has gotten worse.
I can hardly feel my body I feel so detached,
And the lights are glowing orbs.
You make sure I know that I can back out of the movie at any minute
‘I know’ I say
And so I do.
As we drive home to your place so I can lay down.
I wander in and out of that feeling I had just described
You pet and pat my head
Gently rubbing and scratching my neck
Say how I fixed your tire last week for you
How you want to be there for me like that
What part of me can make sense of words is flattered and touched.
We get to your house after what seems like somewhere between lightning quick and forever
Your roommates are there making a ruckus and watching movies.
You show them your lip
I go lay down
You lay tenderly besides me
I drift off to sleep early.
We sleep a lot
Almost twelve hours
I wake up to a fresh dream about the rubble of my old workplace
And in the dream I successfully slit my wrists
It was bleeding all over
But now it is late morning
I am conscious
You hold me and offer to make breakfast
You sometimes anymore the only sense I can make out of anything,
Any of this ole’ mess.

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