nerves

i walked into the liquor store,
grabbed a bottle from the shelf,
walked to the register.

i exaggerated my hangover so that the man behind the counter (he knows me) would cut me to the front of the line
out of pity.

as i headed home, though, the shakes came harder so i walked faster
until my weak knees carried me in a loping, pathetic half-trot

came in slammed the door took the cap off and had a long drink straight from the bottle before even taking off my coat

i can feel my pupils dilate

another long drink

and i can feel my blood thinning

and i hold the bottle to the light and at the right angle i can see faint veins of light splayed against the inside of the glass and if you turn it again the veins are splattered on the fucking wall

that’s sweet

i told her i loved her and she said
‘that’s sweet’
and then she
left

it’s my fault

well, she made the mistake of bringing me home.
i don’t remember how or when we got there but i do remember that she had a nice big bottle of gin.

we kissed
i drank
we fondled
i smoked
we kissed some more
i drank

and then it was time. i got on top of her. it was so goddamned hot in that room it was all i could think about. i could see drops of sweat falling from my brow and landing in her eyes and i could see it was blinding her, her eyes scrunching up and turning red. i didn’t stop.

one stroke, two strokes, a thousand strokes and i realized i wouldn’t be able to make it. the drink was harder than i was this time.

i rolled off of her – ‘sorry luv, not tonite’ – and took another hit of the gin. i turned to grab a cigarette, had it in my mouth, fumbling for the lighter, when she strikes. a hard right jab caught me in the jaw and my cigarette tumbled to the greasy hardwood floor.

‘i really wanted to fuck!’

‘you’re fucking nuts.’

i lit the smoke, had another hit, rubbed my sore jaw, passed out.

the next morning i wake, late for a funeral, to the sun streaming in, hot as hell, with my face in an ashtray and the gin still deathgripped in my hand on the floor next to us. she’s snoring, loud.

i find the broken cigarette on the floor, pick the butts from my three-day beard, take a last hit of the gin, use my last match, pull on my boots and kiss her goodbye.

‘you’re all right,’ i told her.

she didn’t answer.

the last straw

I lit my last smoke with my last match, but the wind blew it out.

She is singing sweetly beside me and playing her banjo, but soon she’ll be gone too.

The phone’s cut off ’cause I didn’t pay the bill and no one’s home, so there’s nothing left to do but sip my beer from a mug I stole from the bar and light cigarettes off the toaster.

I won a free hamburger in my dreams last night, but then I woke up hungry.

smoke

I left my apartment and walked down the street to the corner store to by a forty-ounce bottle of cheap, strong malt liquor and a pack of cigarettes. Across the street from the store was the smoked-out husk of a one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old apartment building that had burned down the day before. The stink of burnt wood and upholstery hung in the air.

There’s an old African proverb that says, “when an old man dies, a library burns down.” Well, when an old apartment building burns down, an old man might die, and knowledge might be lost, but nothing – and I do mean nothing – can stop the flow of traffic, or the exchange of ill-gotten money for strong beer.

I got home, locked the door, poured a glass, drank deeply.

My friends ask why I drink this stuff. It tastes like turpentine, they say, but to me it tastes like a way out.

people

Let me tell you about some people I know.

There’s a long, lean girl dressed like a grandma and she likes chocolate-and-cheese-flavored popcorn, guitars, red wine and the blues.

I know a man who is addicted to technology, a little boy addicted to violence, and a big sleepy toad who smokes too much dope.

this one smokes too much, that one not enough.

he’s too uptight, her shoe’s untied.

Here’s where it all comes together:
Not one of ‘em has any idea what the hell’s going on.

blink

if you pick something to look at and unfocus your eyes just right
everything else seems to fade
whatever mundane object is the subject of your gaze
(a hubcab
a streetlight
a cigarette butt
a wad of gum
a hair growing from a pore growing in skin growing on bones)
becomes all that there is
 
i always hope that if i stare long enough everything really will disappear
 
but i always blink