Burn Out

I am your last cigarette
For the night
I am tight between your
Thin lips
Pulled in
Sucked on
And dragged

I am the ass
The filter
Brown and
Soaked in saliva
Thrown to the ground
And stepped upon
By a heel

I serve a function
I pass and
Poison a brief
Amount of time

The end of night
When you are
Too tired to
Kiss
And just sober
Enough
To hold back

Back to me
Still an ember
On a cold floor
Covered in your
Spit
Your now
Freezing spit

You shut the door
And slowly
The snow
Piles on top
Of me
And your leftover
Lips
Freeze around me
And I am forgotten
I was never
A memory
To begin with
Or end with

Just the only time
I was in your mouth

Come April
Come may
When the sun
Melts and
Dries
I will surface
And be swept off
The porch steps
Like a leaf that fell
In the Fall
And didn't blow away

I will remember
That night
That night
That you won't

Another Liquor Store Poem

I dropped my lighter
While trying to light
My tenth cigarette
While the heat was
Struggling to turn on
Sometime after midnight
In this smoke-filled room
In cold
Dead
January
Six stiff vodkas
And music
And voices
Humming
And cancer
Looming
And loneliness
Present

Dimming toward
Darkness
Imagining weddings
And funerals
Of strangers and
Self

Stealth

I board bussed
A mind bomb
A time bomb
A poor
Limp John
That can't even
Afford a conversation
With a crack whore

Before I walked into
The liquor store
To buy my nightly
Fifth
And pack of
Cigarettes
A black man
In a zebra-patterned
Sweater
And black-rimmed glasses
Yelled
"Sir! Sir!"
At my back
I turned around

He had a shaking hand
Jutted out at me
I grabbed it
And we shook
It was natural
A handshake
Among strangers

He put a hand
On my shoulder
And said
"God bless you"

I wanted to say
"Fuck you"
But he was earnest
Probably insane
But causing no
Real harm

"You too,"
I said quietly
With a fake smile

He took a step back
Stared into my eyes
And walked away

I bought my fifth
And cigarettes
Walked back out
Onto the corner

He was standing there
Smoking a joint

"God bless!"
He smiled and yelled

So that's what it
Means these days

I opened my bottle
At home and didn't
Bother using a glass
Smoked a cigarette
Took a swig
"Fucking god bless,
Assholes"

One Ways

I had a collection
Of unused
One-way tickets
To nowhere

I got drunk
And handed
The tickets out
To all the
Crazies
Junkies
And fucked
Hanging outside
Of the liquor store

I got home
And they were all
There
Drinking my booze
Smoking my cigarettes
And playing my
Sam Cooke
Records

I bought all those
Tickets to
Nowhere

Nowhere
Was home
All along

Let's party

Another Fucking Shitty Year

I don't even know what to write right now. It's been a difficult year full of physical pain and weighing possibilities and thinking about the future and trying to not drink and be responsible and figure shit out. So far the end result is, as I drink, I don't know shit. There are plenty of things that I could do with my life but I don't seem to want to do anything. The inspiration seems to be completely gone and I am having a difficult time harnessing it. It used to not be this way. Every night with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle, pouring booze and writing in my smoke-filled office. Now, I just feel tired, exhausted. I turn on the television and never settle on one thing to watch. Just keep flipping those channels. Then I go to work and listen to people. Day in and day out, listening and talking. Everyone has their opinions and garbage and whatever. Everyone fucking sucks. I've sat on the drinking side of the bar and never taxed my bartender's patience or really asked for more than a drink. Why do these people pour their fucking lives out into my ears while I pour alcohol down their throats. Yeah, it's obvious. That's the job and I'm also a shit magnet. Every asshole on this planet, it seems like, wants to go to Chicago just to talk to me and piss me off because they don't realize that I don't give a fuck. Alright, let me stop right here. I'm going to get my thoughts together and start writing.