Departure Point*

I'm sorry you had to find me like this.
Alone in my car by the beach.
I didn't think you'd be the one.
I figured it would be a cop
Leaving a ticket on my windshield or
Some random stranger.

I wanted to see the sun set over the
Ocean one last time. It was gorgeous
The way the light shifted into pastels
In the clouds above the sea. The waves
Were rippling sheets of silver coming in
And out. I breathed the salty air
To the rhythm of the waves. It was then
I felt myself letting go. It made it easier.
Let me say SORRY SORRY SORRY
SORRY SORRY SORRY
To an endless exponential degree.
This wasn't easy. I know I've made
Needless new complications but I
Never questioned the love I was given.
I needed more than this life could give.
I needed more than I could give.
I can now watch the waves from
A new and distant shore.

*Dedicated to D.S. and to L. who found him.

Rush Hour Traffic on Christmas Eve Eve

It was rush hour traffic the day before Christmas Eve.
I could see a few patrol cars parked up ahead. They
had shut down the south bound lanes and were diverting
traffic to another street. I could see yellow police tape
cordoning off the intersection up. The policeman waved
us through. I turned my head and for a second glimpsed
the scene. It appears that a motorcycle and car had collided.
The bike was lying on its side, the car had a large dent on
the driver side door. I didn't see an ambulance at the scene,
perhaps it had already made its pick up. What a way to get
into the Christmas spirit.

All Good Junkies

She shoots up heroin at home.

I know because I saw the spoon

sitting on her coffee table

staring back at me like a

witness on trial in front

of a jury. The caked white

in her curve told me

all I needed to know.

We made chit chat

about this and that

and all the expected

small talk bullshit

we felt necessary

to defuse awkward

situations. I sat on

her couch as I

petted her pet pug

sitting in my lap.

The spoon kept staring

at me, telling me,

"You know. You know."

"But what can I do spoon?"

I thought to myself.

Nothing. Nothing.

I don't know her

well enough to say

anything to her, to

say anything to her

friends. It's her own

business if she wants

to find her bliss in a

needle. Her life is not

my responsibility.

Don't tell me I should

do something for

someone hellbent

on their own path.

Freewill, we claim it

so often, we might

as well let all good

junkies go to heaven.