today, i do not get along with anybody

this morning
the highway turned to beer
and i drank the whole
of it in, from san diego
up towards home
and all its dark
the white foam
of my head
sloshing around the colors
of stale mugs
shot glasses

it was a dirty sunrise
my car followed or seemed
intent on finding it
ogled towards it
light, a vulgar nude
sleep, akin to lust
inapproachable
the stumbled words
of billboards:
this project of an under
stimulated america

at a gas station later
on the wrong side
of a hangover
i held
the pump
the shifted tide poured in
i dreamed of a bed
rising up
gleaming arms oyster clung
and pearl-ladened
a heaving part
as the night came down
as turbulent currents
might come upon
a diver
unexpected

my friend is leaving, if
we were still friends
after what i had said
there is no art
in suffering
for transcendence
when i arrived home
just shy of 5 o clock
everything seemed
wrong, perverse
our lives as silhouettes
of palm trees
against the sky

but i had drunk
the whole highway in
— a man often
mistakes
want for need
and my friend needed
to leave
and I wanted to
miss the details
against the
brilliance of these days
to come

some things too
sharp against the light
other things
too trivial
and always
my love like friendship
remains
insensible
arriving late
as the hour of sleep
and leaving early as
if waking

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