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. 


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