DrunkLovePoem

For all my CA friends and all my CA ex's.

I.

Drunk and keep catching you gazing at me,
you catch me gazing at you
and a smile is exchanged
a gin is ordered, sent to me.

I’m drinking the gin, thinking of you
and I look over to match your gaze once more—
staring down at your phone.
Wouldn’t look back up at me.

We met, fell in love, and broke up
in a one hour drunk love affair.

II.

To be 15 & fall in love w you again.
1st love of my life offed himself
after we chased Tullamore Dew
down a bad tunnel.

III.

Why fight genetics?
Mom was a CA (Canadian Mist),
both grandmas & grandpas (more likker).
So, fuck it. Where's the vodvod?
Komchatka $10/plastic handle
in a cup that says ‘Cup.’

Lip (from Shameless)= #1 love, future CA.
I thought T.V. & love & football &
cheap beer & Hamburger Helper &
love (lol) & life (el oh el) were evil...
when I thought life had value.

Does anything matter?
I guess the question to us is: what doesn't matter?
And that's why we're CA.
Or that's why I’m a CA.
Why are you?

Cirque de Anatman

I’m 150’ off the ground putting one foot in front of the other. Then the next foot, slowly, deliberately. My heart isn’t racing because I’ve acclimated. There’s no net to catch me if I fuck this stunt up—I will plummet down and land on a tiger or elephant or straight to the ground if I fuck this up. I’m only a quarter of the way across. This level of concentration is physically & mentally exhausting. The cheers & jeers saturating the atmosphere in this white-top don’t even enter my mind. No ear plugs. Halfway there. Heart rate 50 bpm, hands dry & steady. One thought penetrates and it’s 150’ dash to death. I hear one baby cry, gaze veers off course, which is currently straight ahead: broken ankles, fractured spine. Dead. These facts I know—3/4 way across—but the only thought I have is one foot at a time. Not even that—all that’s purged. Only thought—‘Forward.’ Even simpler. Peel away the last layer. That’s where I have to stay. Inside the molten core is where I am. Not even ‘I’. I might be 150’ up but my conscience is a hollow laser. Not a black hole. Neither something nor a sink. Until I reach the platform, the ‘acrobat’, the ‘absence’ of ‘me’ is putting one foot forward. Forward. Go. 0. .

100%. I’m not dead in the jaws of the tiger. I’ve made it again.