Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Matthew, Peter and John

breezed sea water smells
better than hot but
hot smells better than
cold,
it reminds me of the cabin
in the mountains on
those lazy spring mornings
with well water wood stove
and flowers.

i dreamt of Matthew
late last good night
John was with we two
said he was moving on
now, to give it all away
my Matt had died some
years before… - on needles
riding, - gone to stay.

half gallon plastic filled
with pills, hydrocodone
then phenylephrine
we turned up like the
dorito bag when all you’ve
left is crumbs. shaking
down five, six at once
till the race was won and
settling down, he looked
all bloodied my dead friend
alive as he could be
i wished a picture right
beside him to take to
wake up me, the blood was
spattered, streaming, splattered
but he was okay, the images
like those in beantown
soon were washed away.

one more bottle John did
give me, full of powder grain
i rubbed into these arms
for smoothness, something
took us all away.

we burned off with the fog
of first light…

i rose to look for why;

i guess a phone call missed
and filthy syringe can
tell me reasons while
hearts keep bleeding and
life takes knife all day.
yes-
waking up sans nicotine
patch, guess coffee now
ghosts burn away

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