Another shattering of illusions,
as I sit here in cocktail mist
and cannabis descent,
staring with guilt at the nicotine gum;
all the time applying lotion
to care only for exteriors.

Gold *** in apple juice,
I unsettle the ice in partial decency.
Half-baked notebooks scatter
amongst the stray tobacco leaves,
neglected books, tablets and glue;
it's little wonder my life has
fallen
apart.

Old jazz queen,
she's rolling trills and cigarettes
and reminding me of my spine,
the way it twists to the bass-line,
sending chakras to bedlam
and returning to me
my recently lost youth.

Keep it off the record,
as I tumble on through another night
of poison and medicine equivalence,
a summum bonum of forget-me-do's
and elimination of both
the future and past.

I clear the leaves from my autumnal porch.
After the dead slate of winter,
I will emerge, sober.