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Salt as Quaint: Walked the Pavements


I’ve been counting

The drips that sounds

The impact of rainy days

Since this morning

Sitting by my doorsteps

And the door dies open

So that the morning radio

Can keep the background music

To 6 a.m. in check

And I’m getting off this step

That I’ve been sitting on

Since last night

With a bottle full of vodka

(opened but sober)

And a cigarette pack of 24

(opened but nothing smelling like the back of a beer-raped bar)

Hence the absent smell

Of tar on this jacket

Wet and spilled on by last night

‘Cause I’ve been feeling this way

For a quaint quite sometime


I was never able to walk that mile

Or prove any piece

Of being able to start walking

‘Cause these knees keep breaking down

And these arms stand so weak

And I’m watching the sky

Commit arsenal on itself

To bring about today

And I’m not in the mood

For the sun to paint my skin gold

Because it’s been painting me

A pale grey

Since last night

So why stop,

And I beg with homeless manners

To leave this paint on me

Which leaves me a little more


And I’m coughing

Due to weather this time


I’m leaving the bottle and cigarettes

By the sun-chased pavements

Just getting up

To go back inside

And to sit on the first

Few steps on the staircase

And burden my head on the rails

To think about how

Just one sip of alcohol

Can make me sleep off yesterday

And how just one cigarette

Can make me blow smoke

To your face and give me

An excuse for the forecast

Of my eyes to rain

Down salt

On days that slave me

To break sober


And make me put a cigarette

Between these chapped lips

And let it burn my feelings

To taste like yesterday

Because coal and wood

Weren’t available

To keep me warm

By the hearth

Shaped in words

That keeps me repeating:

“I’m sorry”


And cause me to stop

My face from drowning from salt

With the sleeve of my shirt

‘Cause I pretend to be strong

When people try to catch my hand

When I’m falling off sidewalks

When I’m drunk

And keep my words from spilling

When I’m high


But my hands keep killing off

People’s hands

Because mine are too frail to hold onto

But I can still walk on my own

And cops can’t tell me

That I’m too drunk to get home

Even if I can’t walk in a straight line

But as long as

I know these legs can

Get me home

I’m fine with that

Especially if my vision

Accepts swerving cars

As a possible route

I’m fine with that



Watch me

Keep people away

With my salty insecurities

Insecurities that prove to themselves

That these hands can’t do shit

‘Cause this nonfiction of a story-deprived person

Ain’t got a reason to chase pavements

When he’s been let down by words

He tried to shoot at himself with

And try to achieve a throat scene

But just keep missing

The vital spots

And still leave him alive

But legless and armless

To stand


And I’m noticing

An afternoon-waited cup of black coffee

Sitting by these stairs

That keeps this house an icehold

But reminds me

That tomorrow

Will taste the same

As today’s or yesterday’s



The décor of mind of this

Loss of a person

Is beautiful

Like light bulbless lamps

In this house that keeps

Me a sketch of shaded grey



I’m watching the sky pour

And this window pane rain

Where the salt rapes down

The glass as I touch

How cold this pane feels on these

Fingers that relieve me

From the heat

Supplying this case of a

Person living

Because the sound of a

Beating pulse exists

But slows



I wake up by

The doorsteps

Just watching

The sky get dry

While it wets

How I feel today

And I’m grabbing

For a bottle of pills

That makes me sleep off



But no matter what

Salt is on my tongue

On my cheeks

And wiped off

By long sleeves

And it looks like

I’m raining


I can’t do shit


                                                 - salt needed for a dinner table; loveless