five minutes from suicide’s stigma I was
scribbling words to describe my own demise
but not these you see about boomerang generations
of leeches who return to comfort—safety after selfish pillage and plight

At least that’s what my father cried

What stopped me that October day was a ***
a Fool, if you will, younger than I residing on 15th and 3rd  
he clutched tightly to trains into cities and drank blue Mad Dog 20/20
while vomiting tales of sloppy wrists and joblessness

He said, “Don’t do this you need more stability!”

The rest of that day I defied gravity
as I could ski away from rock bottom
because a ***, a traveler, taught me in Autumn
more about a chemical reaction of gold

Than middle school teachers could

Five years to the day, yesterday,
I saw him outside a bank and couldn’t help but think
about blue drink, ******* sentiments and consequences
late for a shift his apron pressed because chemical addiction

Forced a need for paper, not communication.