Sunday, April 1, 2012

detox '04

Summer of ’04
     still smarting from all of ’02
On the first day
     pretty sure I missed the bus...

Yeah, I missed the bus.

The next time
     I paid three of my gold dollars
     Only to figure out there was a bus that went there everyday, for free
          Of course that meant getting up earlier
               In Central America, I found I was a morning person
               But only in Central America

And walking about a mile from the middle-of-nowhere roundabout
     to the front gate of the penitentiary
     every morning

Amblin’ along with Ben Folds Five’s Fair in my head
     Thinking in my head how awesome I was at playing that piano part
     Maybe John Martin on bass
     Maybe Aaron W. on drums
          Neither had I seen in years
          And not since
But the imagining always got me through the walk
Always brought me to the front gate

Every day I did this

Like it was a sacrament
     or something

And oh the doing it
Just to do it
The dragging of the feet
The heart on the sleeve
The hopeless emoting
The radical suffering
The ineffable drama

This was a sick broken-hearted boy
Trying to be a man

This was growing up
     Heretofore never having been so painful
     And thankfully not since

          was the actual feeling of a neo-cortex of the brain
          trying to violently assert itself
          whether I wanted it or not
And I most certainly did not

So I would take what I learned
     from young prison inmates
Back to Belize City
Back to the bay where I boarded with Satch
And I would debrief Satch at the end of his day of building orphanages

Satch told me to write it down
because he knew I’d want to tell the story someday when I was feeling better

               I could not have been in better care

And I would practice that piano part

Every night I did this

It was sacrament
     Or something

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