143/365: Bribes for Quiet Passage
There was a time
I got high as fuck
until the world turned black.
I'd suck smoke deep
after long nights drinking,
and wait —
wait to turn to hot cotton,
for the wrong end of the telescope
to narrow down to a small, bright spot,
the one with the silhouette of a man
who still wished me goodnight,
to pray the ship sailed smooth
as I tossed bits of toast over the side
for hungry cats —
all of it to hide the heart that couldn't bear its beat,
the edgeless well,
all of it bribes for quiet passage.
I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.