Monday, February 4, 2008


I picked him up in a very bad part of town. No one would share the bus bench with one so massive, bloodshot and disheveled. I pulled up and yelled a terse "Get in".

My brother...

the mirror reflects
what exists in all of us:
a can of worms

Nine months of sobriety had come to an abrupt end with a walk from San Pedro to South Central; a stop at every liquor store passed, each one an inviting oasis of oblivion.

I came to pick up the remains.

illusion –
settled in the last half inch
of the last half pint

by John Stone
Northern California

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