poem of the day 09.25.13

nowhere to run

it happened here on 78^th street

going through brooklyn

when i began crying to springsteen songs

man, i don’t know what it is about bruce

maybe the cadence in his voice

but something in his music just gets me

i try not to listen too often

except when i’m down

then i listen all the time

because i believe in the promise of catharsis

and whatever it is that bruce springsteen is selling

i’m usually buying

i have an acid stomach again

from another go round with whiskey and beer

i’ve had the shits all morning

and i feel like vomiting all over 78^th street

cuddling up next to the garbage cans and recycling bins

to wait for the sanitation workers to take me away

with the rest of the trash

while bruce springsteen keeps singing for the lonely

nearly twenty years down this road

and i can count the weeks off from drinking on one hand

can trace my escalation points

as i moved from city to city in this circus life

pinpointing which apartment it was

that i moved from weekend drinking

to beer nights to wine nights

to pumping whiskey down my throat

before the work clothes came off

and the house lights came on

just so i could pass out to do it all again the next day

yesterday i resolved to have nothing

but i started late

and had six drinks in four hours

i only stopped because i knew that i had to get up

and write this poem

christ, imagine if i’d started drinking yesterday

when i normally do?

i probably would’ve called off of work

to caress the porcelain goddess again

but most days i just hang around

in a tired and irritable cloud

hanging on until the next drink

i sit around waiting for my heart to give out

that is, if a have a heart left to give

i sit around like dudes in springsteen songs

waiting for the embers of life to spark anew

a great and hulking american sob story

restless from lamenting my youth

decades past my glory

and fearful of what the future will bring

encased in my own soap opera

of self-created traps and pitfalls

just another guy burning asphalt with his pale drama

hugging the damp ridges of a dirt grave

growing tired and bored with himself

but always looking out for the chance of grace

heroic redemption

hoping to one day bask

in the glorious warmth of the blinding light.