Its hot in the desert.
The air conditioner is pumping in
microscopic sand particles.
I’ve got the blackout curtains drawn
but the light creeps in through the gaps anyway.
I’ve drunk 2/3rds of a bottle
I’m sweating Jack Daniels
and the walls are moving in inch by inch.
I don’t remember who I am anymore.
The years have brought me from
hobo mystic to ambiguous rock star.
I am a shit show.
The motes are dancing in the turbulence
they’re beginning to coalesce.
I think I see the vague outlines of a man…
or maybe it was a cold November night.
The windows building frost with cigarette smoke
as a foundation.
I’ve just turned down the corners of the bed
when I see the reflection of a man in the mirror
or was I in San Diego, the Holiday Inn by
the airport, the loud 737s roaring down from
God knows where?
I was watching Johnny Carson
on the TV, the antenna picking up static
instead of picture. I heard something in the bathroom.
I got up to look and I saw a silhouette out of the
edge of my peripheral vision. Yes.
That’s when I saw Him.
or maybe it was…