When I leave
the bar I swear
I’m steady, even
demonstrate by touching
fingertips to eyelids.
“See,” I say,
“fine motor skills.”
So you let me go
and I drive forty
minutes on empty
predawn freeways,
all the time fighting
dual urges to
throw up, pass out.
I’ll wake up
behind the dumpster
or—best case—
on the ashy backseat
of my gasless sedan;
the previous evening
blacked-out, a drawn blank.
You have to know
I do it all
deliberately. In a hidden
fifth chamber
of my heart,
I want nothing
more than to run
into something
immovable, immense.
The soundproof sidewall
or concrete meridian
maybe serving an atheist
as a surrogate god.
(2004)
