Oh fuck, here comes midnight
Prose Poem: Different Desperation
I'm looking on the Internet for anything at all the ring of some message from some friend someplace far away ringing like a telephone that lies cold and dormant after maybe the sixth "I'll call you back soon" and nothing in the past month just tell me where there are people who will talk like they don't live in other states, who will talk about people I don't know with such ease and familiarity it's like I grew up in their town, the small towns where all the kids do pot except for maybe a few who never fit in enough to be invited to the weed parties. I always guessed that someday I would end up like this, in the middle of a gritty high school story where We know what's up and They are too busy crying over the dead 1950s to notice, except now I'm not caught up in the scene, I'm the clean and sober semi-participant semi-spectator and the only one still good to drive past ten, the type who would if kwi had to, to the hospital or just to the convenience store. They say that's what I'm missing: Why can't you just loosen up and get high with us? they ask, as if a few solid hits might fill me up to the point where I wouldn't be up late nights waiting for anything uncold.
I'm looking on the Internet for anything at all the ring of some message from some friend someplace far away ringing like a telephone that lies cold and dormant after maybe the sixth "I'll call you back soon" and nothing in the past month just tell me where there are people who will talk like they don't live in other states, who will talk about people I don't know with such ease and familiarity it's like I grew up in their town, the small towns where all the kids do pot except for maybe a few who never fit in enough to be invited to the weed parties. I always guessed that someday I would end up like this, in the middle of a gritty high school story where We know what's up and They are too busy crying over the dead 1950s to notice, except now I'm not caught up in the scene, I'm the clean and sober semi-participant semi-spectator and the only one still good to drive past ten, the type who would if kwi had to, to the hospital or just to the convenience store. They say that's what I'm missing: Why can't you just loosen up and get high with us? they ask, as if a few solid hits might fill me up to the point where I wouldn't be up late nights waiting for anything uncold.