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New Orleans 1973 February 9, 2008

Posted by vsap in Blogroll, Poetry, Uncategorized.

Lying sideways, the bed was old, tilted slightly,

the frame missing a leg on the left foot side.

I don’t remember arriving wherever this is, and what is that

god-awful smell, and what the hell am I laying on?

My head is heavy, not so much hurting, which I expected,

but heavy, like a boulder pinned to the side of a hill,

too heavy to roll, and then there’s that cold, wet sensation

and even if I could open my eyes I don’t want to see it.

Then, there’s muffled laughter and the smell of cigarette smoke

but I can’t tell if it’s coming from inside or through the open window.

When I make it to all-fours, the bed is rocking and the nausea begins

and I fall in a heap back onto the stained sheet and I’m thankful when the

recoiling, moaning mattress spring firms up and I quit bouncing.

The body battles what the soul desires, I think this fleeting thought

as my eyes try to adjust to the low light,  just about dawn on a warm,

no, hot, August morning, what is it eighty already? At least there’s a

breeze, but why is the stupid window open, and why can’t I get up?

It’s funny how you can see things clearly before they happen and

after they are finished, but there’s no clarity in the moment,

you just do what you can with what you have.

I don’t remember what happened after I thought that.



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