daily life so pristine lived,
walked and got flecks of dirt on the shoes
rain drops on the pants,
glasses need cleaning,
seeing clearly, the
drunk against a fence leaning,
know where he has been,
by the trail of empties,
now filled with his emptiness,
he does not speak,

the words pouring around inside his head,
are too drunk to, so he shuts his mouth instead,
waiting for the sparks to fly from another's
broadside swipe to ignite the fire of anger
seething and waves, that will wash, from
him
taking everything
dear and near to him
far away to safety,
while strangers
are in danger,
of the bottlerocket he has become, and he won't remember,
or know how to stop,
until he is found empty,
at the bus stop,
or in the corner,
or with blood staining everything,
so that he doesn't,
know if it is his,
until he does a physical inventory, then
shards of light, poke at his eyes
every noise annoys,
his ears, and drive six inch spikes
into his head to find his pea sized sober brain,
his mouth tastes
like he ****** on work socks instead
of cigarettes,
his stomach growls with distrust as
he ended the night
fended for himself,

as he finds he is in
the same city,
the same county,
the same state,
the same country,
called Alone.



©DWE022014