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Cruising home from the driving range.  
My collared shirt free of cigarette burns…  
58  in November,  hit’em pure
Pushed back against the wind flirted with woods
Everything should be  peace  Turners on; and I’m contemplating hard

A trip back to dodge way ,  
bury me  in project bricks
Surrounded by fresh needles and chunky cocaine.
Skoal Mint  sinking me to the chair again, 
Dotted pupils linoleum on my knees…  

I”m pushing it all the way cause 

I want me the ****ing  ringing chased by black melting weightlessness..

Ohh where did I lose soul..   between rattling box car trains at the back porch in point breeze,
 or the cramped back seat of my ford escort home…  I  still feel the abrasive fabric on my cheek…  

Don’t think Ill find it in a 401k  or wooden pin..
salivating at double seals again
I don’t think I can do this,  
don’t think I can  be high enough sober
,I ain’t never gonna recover.  
  
A vibration sucks my lip dry,  damn phone dashing  fantasy.  
It’s not locked, Alone, but a few voices behind me.
humming I can’t handle another  decade of subs junk and booze..

I feel too much. sober


Drops of sweat on my back from heated seats flash call off leg cramps
Black trucks remind of exit door deliveries at Giant Eagle..   
Uneasiness haunts back the anticipation of copping
Am I supposed to eat honey nut cheerios with a damn fork…     

How am I gonna recover?????

Artificial warmth always distracts swollen veins and cherished loneliness 

How am I gonna recover? 

The drugs don’t know  
    this time 
I’m fighting with  sessions, a pen and  ****ing numbers…
 I can mask  rage as calm conversation 
Throw out chunks  of  feelings in self deprecation
And turn away from  nodding strangers  

I’m  calling  out to all  my   desire to die…….
.   
Cause today I’m feeling high enough

Dave streett
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