Low Sodium

The fog outside is whiskey breath
while we both sit here
with our greasy hair
and do not care at all
about the little things.

Why are you following me?
Memory?
A ghost white hand seeping
out of the wall tickling
nothing’s balls,
but reaching out for mine.

A whole city block of zoned out
strangers shaving their kid’s heads
with different shards
of the same mirror.

Loud engines of spliced together
cars going 80 just to turn around
at the edge of town
because there is no destination
that can fix this.

An empty bottle balanced
perfect on the plastic lid
of a trash can, full of stale blood,
and the dust crumbs
of forgotten smaller
death feasts.

Rolling around in pain
on a stained mattress
after a night of cheap wine
gives her a headache
and she has to hold it back.

Until the daylight
through the blinds
provides a shadow
we can slip through
to where the highways
all converge and there
is nowhere left to stand
except the center.

The world can hit us
anytime it wants.