Cars,
Like coffee pots,
Break down,
And more so,
When you least want them to.
So imprisoned,
The frigid,
And with no power-windows,
We didn’t care about the heat,
Only the smoke
That now stung our eyes –
Two-fold
Atop already open wounds,
And the cancerous,
Lying in wait, most often,
Indiscriminately.
So enters the second urge,
And it controls me,
I don’t control “it;”
“It” being a mood frosted
Amnesia, free,
Like beer’s hiss,
At the crack of a can.
And like beer,
“It” runs out
When the money does;
All too quickly to be
Replaced by the
Haunts of –
Bill collectors, war
And the knife in the drawer.
Something beckons when
We spot a diner from within
The snowbound derelict
We reside.
Scraped change and reckonings,
We can afford a few,
Drinks.
Forgotten were the coats when
We abandon ship, abandon you,
Abandon me,
And more importantly,
The haunts;
Our chariot, a remain,
A wreck on shores unknown
With bodies, perhaps,
Left for the living come spring.
My addiction's grip is always around my neck. Luckily, I've found something healthier to love.
