Not tonight.

Tonight death, you shall not claim me.
Though I be not sober
I
am
clean.

Though the bottle is full
and my flesh shakes with longing
thou shalt not
claim
me.

Sober for 0
clean for 5.

At the edge of understanding
of the populous at large
lies the darkness
of substance
and
death.

Tonight,
death shall not claim
me.

Your henchmen have
been removed from
my
weakness.

Death,
you foul demon
of night.
You find not
harbour
here.

I fight the war but
tonight
I win
the
battle.

In the morning:
clean for 6
sober
for
0.

You know,
I always thought that addiction
would be much more profound
than this.

But it isn't.

It is trivial and profane.
It is self-deluding and
you don't really have it together
regardless of how often that you claim,
"Well,
this is the last time."

I always thought that this slavery
to late night clandestine meetings
was somehow prophetic and
the tattoo
of the starving and struggling
artist.

If the former is true then
call me:
Van
Gogh.

I waited at the corner of Cap and Hunt today
in the elusive Carolina heat.
On the sidewalk two meth-heads,
dirty from days of digging in the dirt
for change,
started arguing about something I
couldn't
decipher.

She was screaming at him as
he shuffled in his dust cloud toward
a dead end I was thankful
to know nothing
about.

He stands on that corner in the morning.
He holds up a cardboard sign that says
Lost my job -
Please help.

This is my second run in with these types
in the past month.
Times getting desperate.

I shouldn't judge.
I haven't written a sober word in
a month.

That makes me either
a genius or
a waste
of
time.

Remember that time
I wept as she sang?

My Face: The Face of Death

"I know that it is freezing but I think we have to walk
I keep waving at the taxis; they keep turning their lights off
But Julie knows a party at some actor's west side loft
Supplies are endless in the evening; by the morning they'll be gone.

When everything is lonely I can be my own best friend
I get a coffee and the paper; have my own conversations
With the sidewalk and the pigeons and my window reflection
The mask I polish in the evening, by the morning looks like shit.

And I know you have a heavy heart; I can feel it when we kiss
So many men stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it
But me I'm not a gamble you can count on me to split
The love I sell you in the evening, by the morning won't exist.

You're looking skinny like a model with your eyes all painted black
You just keep going to the bathroom always say you'll be right back
Well it takes one to know one, kid, I think you've got it bad
But what's so easy in the evening, by the morning is such a drag.

I've got a flask inside my pocket we can share it on the train
If you promise to stay conscious I will try and do the same
We might die from medication, but we sure killed all the pain
But what was normal in the evening, by the morning seems insane.

And I'm not sure what the trouble was that started all of this
The reasons all have run away but the feeling never did
It's not something I would recommend, but it is one way to live
Cause what is simple in the moonlight, by the morning never is
What's so simple in the moonlight, now is so complicated
What's so simple in the moonlight, so simple in the moonlight"
FIN//

Vignette IV

This morning I thought about how
once again "Lua" is the truest song
ever
written.

The past two weeks have been a spiral
into the familiar
(and all too real)
darkness that is always on
the tip of
our
tongues.

My goals have been moderately realized.
My hands have been idle and
what I have been persistently running from
has shown itself
again.

We are all always
just this side
of
madness.