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crying, having sex it won't work since i've moved away "you know how i know when to stop drinking?" i say, you say "when?" and i say "when i feel pretty" she touches my face "you are pretty. i always thought you were." it still won't work and i still feel ugly all over. i bought you a bus ticket and picked you up drunk from the arcata transit center and when you go home on tuesday morning it's over for good. i'm drunk now and you want me to stop drinking because of what it's done to your dad he sits alone on the reservation in canada, drinking himself to death as i take another drink straight from the bottle a fifth of jack daniel's a handle of jim beam i feel so young and so dumb standing in the wind on the corner of 16th and g street a pack of marlboro reds in each pocket of my men's 32x34 westerns a men's small black work shirt staring into the sun i swear to god it followed me here to torture me. i shouldn't say anything at all. i don't make sense. men and women and small children float face down in twenty feet of water in new orleans and here i stand in california bitching about the sunshine
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