that wasnt me there, that was you

enough of tough and sensitive hipster zitstained crunchy headed hug-a-lugs
where we wind up cracked on storys-deep sidewalk thoroughfares,
or flattened on carkey funeral store pilings of what used to be broad harbors for freight,
or smashed on wintergreen memories and seroquel nightmares—
—the kind you cant sleep through—

i drove home the regular way today
past the brokedown dollar store,
the overloaded gas station mob front—
—where driving across the railroad tracks into the ghettofabulous humdrum of decay earns the suited thugs twenty cents more a gallon, courtesy of your dumb ass—
past the upturned fingers of the courthouse,
the bowling alley slash drive-by motel,
the cliche chic barbecue joint in the village,
past the kids killing time on the way home from high school,
with my window rolled down in the chill,
and the music turned up,
just so someone would notice me for once

you cant and i dont claim to and neither does anyone else ever really want to die,
so we go and throw ourselves headlong into whichever wind might this time blow
cause it’s easier to push sometimes than to be strewn along with everything else—
mindless and heavy-headed, thumping awkward sorry across other people’s backyards with kick-canned sorrow—
for tomorrow,
we might not have the strength,
so it pays to play yourself ahead of the game,
when you can.

just watch out for the intersections