je suis

A Zippo with no lighter fluid,
An empty pack of Marlboro Lights.
The ash under your shoes mixing with the snow,
Grey slush and cigarette butts.

A stack of empty Smirnoff bottles,
A flask full of troubles.
A notebook full of drunken scribbles -
A waste of ink.

The heart of Yeats,
The eyes of Diane Arbus.
The liver of Bukowski,
The chemical imbalances of Sylvia Plath.

Erratic dramatic hypertension,
Shakes and sweats at midnight.
The antithesis of kitsch,
The ultimate opus.

The aged oak of the bar,
Dirt and scratches overwhelm.
Burn marks from cigarettes,
Littering the oak -

Track marks on a junkie’s arms.
Dirty, empty pint glasses surround,
Drained like the Mojave-
They leave you endlessly unsatisfied.