Little Black Dot

came home from the office today
wasted
barely five o'clock
on don de dieu.
said to marlaina outside the ministry
christ almighty
champlain must have been drunk
all the time.
are you really that drunk?
she asked.
and i said
it's a wonder this bike and i
are still upright.

dear chelsea,
here begins your steady downward trajectory
into alcoholism.
how do you feel about that?
(i don't know)
well you'd better figure it out
before you do anything with the bottle
of silent sam in your shoulder bag.
(i know
i know i need to do something
i know i need to get to the bottom of this
to the root of it
but this goes so much deeper
than what's planted)

it's been weeks now and maybe this will sound melodramatic
or dumb, or something, but i'm starting to think that last time
was the last time
and that's sad
if only because i don't even remember it.
and now maybe the absence will stay empty
because i can't get it back
and i can't get it back because
it's not being given and besides
taking is a fight and
i am so tired of fighting.

i need to go to yoga.
i need to go to sleep.
i need to pull up the carpets in this apartment
because god knows how much stale energy they're storing.
i need to lie on the hardwood with this thin slice of chrysoprase
on my ribs and i need to meditate
because it's high time i got serious and grew
into my own wounds.