Bring me wine & make it as cold as cancer!

It began with the never-ending

procession of good-bye gatherings

fresh bright faces burned into the retina

as they faded into the ether.


There were graduations & dissipations

broad horizons & distant opportunities

to be grasped in the face

of a crumbling friendship circle.


The sisterly femme-fatale actress

the wanna-be rockstar

the itinerant disillusioned poet

the writer of a paper heart

comrades in arms & others

took part in an all too familiar scenario

of repetition & circumstance.


So too gone were the old flames

once twice & even thrice removed

        sluts     sluts      sluts

& the judas mother-lovin' dandies

acquaintance after acquaintance

some of whom we didn't bother

sending off with a party.


Many were the wakes we held

for those among the bastards

who dragged us down:

the fuckers of betrayal's intent.


The ritual burning of photos

effigies to a drunk god

pissing her name up a wall

& in the ashes of memory

until we'd emptied countless bladders.


& always

- as with parting -

there remained a longing

just to hold that person

one more time

as if that would fill the void.


       “Bring me wine!

        & make it as cold as cancer!

        Gimme scissors, some papers & a bowl

        & I'll roll a joint that'll last until sunrise.”


When I would awaken

it would be afternoon

after binge

      after sleep

            after thought

                  after dreams

                          of better days.


Those James Dean

photographic delusions of grandeur

with a tangible sense

of avant-garde road-movie

faded into melodrama…