Heading back home today. Still not packed. I’m waiting for the coffee to kick in and for the beautiful woman beside me to wake up. It’s been a crazy trip, between the faction-groups all vying for control, the rampant booze-hounding, the Grandmas, the Moms, the Aunts and Uncles, Brothers and Sisters, Friends and Well-wishers…
Who could ask for anything more?
I spent most of yesterday drunkenly retracing steps, tracking down missing articles, filling, emptying, and returning u-haul trucks, acquiring legendary burgers, etc. It was fine. I was pretty much sober when I woke up around 3. The other night had lasted clear into mid-day, and I put myself down before I crashed completely. The only thing that saved me, really. Now, as I write this, as I drink Grandma’s chicory coffee and cough up the proof that I’ve been chain-smoking for days, as the girl beside me stirs, as the grate in the ceiling rattles from the warm air forced through it, as the frost riming the windows turns to perspiration, as my eyes turn toward the sky again…
…time to fly.
A piece of Persephone
The roar of my ears…
…it’s always in my ears,
giving no quarter
while I try to explain.
You were never afforded a childhood,
that which you grasp at and eschew
at the same time. You never knew,
for better or for worse, what
you might live through.
So you made it a game,
You chose to deny the sort of
sweet end ties that otherwise
there would abide.
But, anyway, I ain’t tellin’ you
what you should or shouldn’t
do, it’s passing strange that
you still would think it so…
and if I still had a place to call my own,
and if I still had a trace of what I called my own,
Thereupon, the angels fell and died.
For that which was ever trustworthy,
all Hell hangs in the balance,
And all that never mattered hinges
on Heaven’s guaranteed existence.