what I needed for seven years
after I broke the mirror was
not electricity, not a word from
my kinfolks, not water or
a dry place to sleep.
Food and cigarettes were
needed but gave way if
they got in the way
of me getting high.
All I needed then was another
imagining I was getting high.
As I peeped through foil curtains
and waited impatiently when
the buzz wore off for the next hit to knock
on my door. I am surprised
now by how I ever made it here,
looking back at how I was
a total mess. How a few good people
saw me as potentially good.
I don't know how they and me made it
through.