Greyhounds In The Mist

I’m nursing substance abuse

from the night before,

my apartment’s on the 75^th floor,

I suffer vertigo

I have no curtains,

I look across Manhatton 

sitting in an overtly 

large leather chair, 

it’s been christened 

with fag burns, booze and puke

more times than I

care to remember 

 

I keep my smokes and bottle

on the table next to me,

I make rent .. barely

I drink, I write, I smoke,

I have an epiphany,

I write, I smoke, I drink, 

I think ... way too much

but it brings out the best in me

though some might disagree

 

I have no interest in what

the health critics say,

talk's cheap and I can’t 

afford to pay, 

I rarely rest, 

my mind flickers 

like a cinefilm projecting 

on a piss-stained sheet,

sometimes I use my bed for sleep,

usually I just “sleep it off”, 

everything else is an inkwell fog

I bleed, I spit, I’m honest,

I gamble, ducking out

of conversation

favouring isolation

 

for breakfast I’m a stickler 

for the diner down the street,

French toast with maple syrup,

black coffee with a shot of ‘Irish Mary’, 

I tip even if I can’t afford it, 

I walk home, sometimes I take a cab

only if my ‘nag’s’ come in first

 

I gamble, I curse 

I’m the number one contender

for liver failure, but that’s ok

I’ve outstayed my welcome

by 49 years and counting, 

I’d love to tell you

I’ve learnt my lesson, but I haven’t,

lessons are always learnt too late,

usually post diagnosis

 

we run, we panic

eventually we fall

like greyhounds in the mist

chasing our rabbit,

nothing comes from it

other than aching bones

and a condition 

we can’t manage, 

we die alone and damaged

on the 75^th floor

sitting in an overtly large

leather chair 

looking over Manhatton,

I used to suffer from vertigo,

I don’t anymore