Remember those first shits in the first months
of your coffee addiction.
years later I wrote several poems high on oxycodone.
I'm cleared now.
there's a madhouse in a Bethesda naval yard crumbling to dust.
there's a mad ghost wandering the halls of an unnamed school in Paterson, NJ.
there's a green van pulled to the side of the road off I-70 in Ohio, lost to time.
where I gave up the wheel,
where I was a rolling stone,
where I gave up sleep,
where I was never found,
some things will always be,
some things must go