Crestview Drive

The last good times I spent drinking

were with a real gone gal in Chicago, Illinois
many a grand night spent in taxi cabs speeding towards kicks
I remember tall laughter and wild talk in dark bars
and humor in spades
dressed to the nines and full of spit and vinegar
adventures and tales, boy oh boy
how we did  hoot and holler and …

it’s a cold January night now
a Sunday in 2012
it’s all over
any spin of the bottle bringing bleeding and muted sorrow
an image of myself
coming apart in slow motion
any city laws against burying in the garden
I shake my head and tell myself
it’s not a comeback it’s a return

an uncomfortable reminder that time has passed

dust on my exposed bulb
shadows crouch in every corner of this room
the lifestyle I was living
unsustainable
hitting walls are fun
even funnier at 157 mph

a touch of melancholy on the rocks

drunk with nothing every night
not even nostalgia can save this

nothing like tile floors for the tango
crumbling to dirt and poverty
nothing like shadows to spin around with
and only the silence
to dip down to the floor
cold dead eyes in your arms

they’re all loose in here
memories with hatchets and hacksaws
I lay in bed chained to the night
nothing but another writer without a publisher

a musician without a label
an entertainer without a stage

I’m starving for a soft shoulder to cry on
the darkness is the desert and vice versa
no way in and no longer any way out

I’ll send a picture postcard care of

Chicago, IL.