The blood boiled
In the bottom of my shoe
And had it not been for the
Dream and requisite
Starvation,
A hunger born only yesterday,
I’d have simply walked,
Walked anywhere, walked away –
Leaving dignity to the whims of
Drink…never dumb, but numb;
The path of least resistance.

It’s within that second
And second swipe
Of burn to my ankle,
Alcohol unto a wound
And far from belly,
That I recognize Achilles
And the tendon
That now throbs –
Our brotherhood
Sealed in weakness, wanton suicide
And early grave
Should I break and break and
Break.

In desperation,
I open my wallet and look to her,
Two eyes atop gloss,
For the memories that fade
During these deadened hours -
Smiles lying in wait and simpler times
As I pull up my sock,
So that the cotton soaked with the
Sweat of others and their hours
Seals my very own crimson away.

I sigh.
I continue on;
You do too -
4 more hours to sleep
And one more payday to eat.