I can't even keep my shit together -
I mean I come home and there's paper scraps and scissors and broken glass and dirty dishes and ignored forms and shoes -
God, I've got a lot of shoes, and they sit around like they own the place wherever I happened to roll out of them,
and chances are I was drunk when I made it home last night, had to wake up in that room where the bed's just barely off the ground, and all the clothes I'm not comfortable in strewn around -
Where there's six or more half-empty containers of water, because if I drink too much coffee and smoke too many cigarettes and down too many cans of Pabst or Ranier or Lucky in a night at least I'm going to drink enough water.
Water will keep you alive.
And God, I come home and it's like this, and it's like this every day, except when I sleep on the couch like it's my new home, like this kid game of desert island where you have everyting you need:
two bottles of water, six beers, thirty pound dictionary, poloroid, sleeping bag -
and I'll take photos of myself like it's the most ingenious thing in the world, like no one has ever seen their own reflection before, like Narcissus didn't exist -
and I'll save all this crap: scraps of fabric and vinyl, hideous fake flowers, dead flowers, waxed paper, doll parts, matchbooks, bottlecaps, notes from unknown people to other unknown people,
and the point is to take them with spray paint and safety pins, with plastic bags, thick paint and hot glue, and make them into something other than trash, something closer to art, or at least costume, so the poloroid will have an excuse again.
But in the meantime I'm just drunk,
And between times I'm just drunk
and trying to drown what's let of a year old wound -
But if you soak a cut too long it's not going to heal
If you pry into a cut too long it's not going to heal
and you'll walk around like a shadow of a person,
picking up things to prove you can,
that the shade under you has substance,
and the things you make out of trash do verify existance
and your own reflection is still there on the lip of the camera
you have a goldfish memory
I am still here I am still here
I am still here
this is
what I look like
What I found
What I did