late night willamette

Walking in south town carrying a god awful amount in my chest. believe me, nothing is easy. September, usually the month of betrayal. for me anyways, i'm not sure what it's like for you... But this year, I don't know. Things are slow. crawling discomfort makes its way in. with eight legs and a sense of entitlement. I yawn at the moon, and feel the aches in my feet. gravity still won't forgive me. I don't know. Things are slow. They almost don't exist. I mean, I could catch the light just right the way it sinks and spreads on the maple, or i could close my eyes and miss it, and think about sadness and what's next... But this year, I'm sober. I see the lucidity of dreams marble past. I go into the liquor store and buy cheap gin. i drink them high balls til i can't, The bowling alley is packed tonight, it's league and those balls are in the rolling. They are born for destruction. I get home and it actually feels like home which surprises me. I drink more. don't worry about me, the weight is lifting. The whole town is expanding, and I want to stay right here and run away. I'm expanding and the whole world feels small. Then I'm walking down the street with my insignificant self, yawning, and the moon is vibrant.