Driving through Kentucky.
Fields fragrant with summer flowers,
spring fast approaching.  
En-route to meet the boys of previous
summers lounging in London streets, fields, and serpentine parks,
And, stairs leading down to unwelcoming basements; as is the British way.
Malls of America now act as labyrinths.
Where the hell can I park my car?
Again, I ask, where the **** can I park my car?

I don’t care.
I just won’t park my ******* car,
in this god-forsaken middle of the western U.S.
Louisville, better yet, Hicksville.  
I pop another Vicodin to get rid of this ill,
Surviving bit by bit but drained incessantly until,
I am no longer near fill, in spirit or in gasoline, tangible but also metaphysical.  
Someone plunge into my depressed psyche and drill, drill,
DRILL!
Hey waitress of my mind, may I please request the bill?
With a pocket full of Xanax and a duffel bag of boomers,
my pockets jingle, (click-clack) as the pills bounce around with
every step, treating addiction with more drugs appears
to be the current stance of the know nothing doctors across this greatest nation on God’s green earth.
Hey babe, “want to walk with me to the methadone clinic,”
It’s rainy out, cold rain, can you carry my umbrella?
I can’t miss my dose or I’ll get sick.
So again I ask
Babe?
Walk with me to the methadone clinic?

Oh joy to me,
I have awakened
It seems the night has left my skin dry,
And my beautiful dreams lost to
The methadone sky
My chin stubbled, lips cracked
I try to remember,
Reach for my dream
It disappears into nothingness
The mangled battlefields of mine
How I need to remember
That methadone sky

Oh joy to me,
She has awakened
It seems the night has left her skin moist,
And her beautiful dreams lost to
The methadone sky
Her cheeks cut, lips scabbed
I try to make her,
Reach for our dreams
They disappear into nothingness
The mangled battlefields of time
Oh how she needs to remember
That methadone sky