It’s an easy drop
to your rock bottom.
A steady fall,
to the place I have come to know as home.
Where were you when I walked the seven blocks, liquid blurring every stoplight, in Neosho? And who were you looking for in potholes, in sticky glasses, in empty packs of cigarettes, when I was only three knuckle lengths away (or so your map would tell you)?
I have been down this spiral before.
Clawing and spitting at the walls that keep me out,
and you in.
Scoured these roads for your face
-in dirt and snow and root rot-
but found instead,
some pulsing piece of you.
Something that you left behind;
It was there, in the square of that small town.
It was there, in that empty bed.
I was there.