jack

half of all i did ended with someone else’s song on my lips and a bottle of jack in my hands. hemingway went fisherman mad in the end. old man and the sea. im american too and write my own life down.  not all that well traveled and gave up on dionysus. my rebirth wasn’t pretty. i sing my own sad songs to a can of orangina. fall for pulp and fiction. author, editor, publisher, marketer, designer. that’s my bottleneck now. i cannot give a damn if they like it. I put my heart and soul in it anyway.

addiction

addiction

was like

a feeling

pulsing

pounding

uncontrollably

out my

pores

 

addiction

was like

a double

full moon

shining

through

prisms

and just

that far

removed

 

addiction

was like

living

without vegetables

without bread

without water

without

moral fiber

 

 

addiction

burnt holes

in my retina

so my

soul

could slip out

unawares

 

Edgar Allen Poe

knew

addiction

was best put

to rest

the way

Faulkner did

the way

Hemingway did

the way

Fitzgerald did

the way

Bukowski  did

 

typing

away

until

put to

rest