Two-thirty a.m.,
cruising my hometown,
feeling despondent vibes
of failed industry
yet familiar comfort
of childhood haunts,
I belonged.

Out with buddy boy, childhood pal,
smoking Marlboro reds
in his high roller Cadillac, white,
smooth cruising, floating ride,
driving circles, squares
around our old neighborhood,
Nancy Sinatra serenading us,
“Sugartown” repeating on loud,

needing this carefree release of
pent up, wicked juju,
masqueraded well below
staged superfluous smiles

He was gambling
and losing all he had,
I was getting high
and losing my mind,

both of us back home
to escape these vices
our bad decisions catching up,
fools to addiction, we were dying.

Chuck Mangione, “Feels So Good”,
old recordings from dubbed mix tape,
open window, release of trapped skeletons,
inspiring belief in better days to come,.

Bygone music, rhythm and lyrics
offering alternatives to troubled  life,
and we dreamed of delicious days,
peace, freedom realized
destination in sight
almost there in Sugartown.

No one else can know,
my secret safe with only me,
yet paranoid at my transparency,
everyone must know about vices
that I just can’t live without,
taking over my body, my mind.
I’m caught in a bubble, seen by all,
chasing highs.

Deadly game that is played to tragic end,
and the hooked take the risk, always
addiction is the master,
instructions to self-destruct,

and I make sure
you don’t know my hiding places,
paraphernalia out of sight,
sudden excuses to leave tip you off,
and I overlook subtle clues
that you pass, just obvious enough
to let me know that you know,
and it squeezes your heart,
while my heart is numb.

Madcap behavior I can’t ignore forever,
I confess my violation of your trust,
You respond, “It’s about time.”
Feeling foolish I ask, “You’ve been waiting
for me to be ready to come clean?”
You respond with tear falling, “No, I’ve been waiting
for you to be ready to get clean.”

I don’t know how to do this,
the insidious obsession feels impossible to beat,
and now seeking clean life,
I’ve never faced a more difficult fight.

stellar event so bright
it wakes empathy in the jaded,
shooting stars, trails of magic debris,
like electricity leaking from cracks
in the universal backdrop
that is the night sky,
it is alive.

perhaps we break with the cosmos
when born into this world,
losing an understanding
of space and time,
dark and light

and upon expiring from this world,
we rejoin the endless galaxies,
suns and planets
forming organized systems
across an expanding canvas

fear of our final act,
not so scary knowing
we go home,
body reabsorbed as universal energy,
jumping from moons to planets,
riding comets and skipping star to star,

even exploring a black hole
to find out if that’s really
where dark souls are held captive,
and maybe I’ll find
that the closer I get
it will try to capture mine