Writing in repose
whispering snippets of old lyrics
a soft rasp without a tone
a sliver of spirits
a slight and gentle bite
familiar and warm
a broad and formless night
disguising a creeping horizon
a heart-shaped ashtray
balanced to one side.

Dogs are barking
white eyed.

Time to turn in
for tonight.

No rest for the pickled
sleep when you’re bread
early riser
or late night survivor
determinedly baking
your pillow sandwich head
while daylight spreads
stubborn and begrudging
as reluctant to rise
as you are to shine.

I ate a dozen apples
devouring one after another
until their sweetness turned sharp
stinging in my jowl, my clenched jaw
aching with mechanical motion
like a cow grazing meditatively
I glutted myself with flesh and seed.

I slept all through the week
embracing each day like a pillow
clutched tight to my face
holding back a flood of contrition
reflexive jerk reaction to self-reflection
I padded my cell with layers of slumber
for a soft landing in the sea of dreams.

I burnt all of my blazing currency
flippant in a spiraling frenzy
until the lights blinked out
in one black moment, nothing
contained squarely and photo framed
until I broke my way out and awoke
famished, befuddled and alone.

By the side of the river we began to unwind
as we pulled at threads throughout the night
unraveling Revelations
and tearing down shibboleths
we ignited the silence with our backyard science
and explored the cosmos with beer in hand.

“Become who you are” he told me once,
“There are no guarantees.”

Every limb was a story or a shopping list
twisted missives composed in faded ink
we spent another day dissecting lyrics
reading signs buried between the lines
and rejoicing
in the simplest conversation.

Our shared delusions drove us to the edge
and our hidden truths reunited us again
down by the water’s end
unsteady, drunk with bubbling joy
“Mi casa es su casa” he said,
“Stay as long as you need”.