The way down has been a screaming horse on fire blundering its way on

    Down,
         Down,
    Down.

Last Saturday was the bottom.
The absolute lowest the sun will dip the absolute earliest in the day.
So we drank ourselves more than half to death and spit whiskey at the sky screaming
"I made it this far!
I took everything you threw and walked the coals to this day-
I dare you to end me now!"
And the night drew on and I walked to a park with a pond with a friend
We threw snowballs at the sleeping geese
And talked about our losses and our victories
-And there was an obvious weight on one side of that scale-
We talked big fish and sea monsters until the church bells rang across town
And the Catholics walked with their guilt to the cathedral on first.
We stumbled home
-blasphemers, but free of guilt-
And talked women and war
Until we found our way to our house in the ghetto.

So that's how the way back up began:
Too hungover to work
Too broken down to fornicate
Too weak to wage war

And it occurred to me at that moment
That if we have crossed the first half of the valley,
we are now walking uphill
And the worst may well be

Yet to come.