2012/06/24 § Leave a Comment
On the theme of cigarettes
I had hate sex with myself
Which turns out to be of the best kind.
These secret ceremonials
Where afterwards, furiously, Nicorette is stuck and sucked
Are way better than dates at the blood bank.
Sometimes I wake up covered in bruises.
But this time they’re my own, and from something beautiful.
My surfboard to the face, something sleepy on the shin, a foot drug topside
and beautiful in my big country.
Klonopin is the new Valium, whiskey the new gin, Norco the new Vicodin.
He used to slap the cigarette out of my mouth
Until at the last, the bottom and my tooth fell out.
Everything is Texas-big these days:
The fuck ups and fly-aways,
The guffaws and gaffes.
Getting sunburned with Johnny at the river,
How beautiful to begin drinking beer at thirty two.
How beautiful to quit in your own time.
How lovely to be able to breathe again
And sit up in the morning, sand caked and early,
And know the blood in your mouth is just an aftertaste from a life you almost lived,
To spit it out, swill, and stick the gum into the place
The ashes used to occupy.
Monica Storss is a poet, author, performer and literary organizer. She is principal at Storss Publicity. She lives in Portland, Oregon. More at www.monicastorss.org