drunk poem

like my brothers, the officials and shamans
I am drinking and smoking, tonight
I am drinking myself mad
look my writing scrabbles across the page
in the morning, the typeface will order it, contain it
I am drinking myself mad, and this is the way
I am drinking myself mad
what a world, what a world is this?
that I must twist myself along my neurons
that I must follow all the contours of my brain
to come to myself
I drank by the window, only one glass of wine
light and thick and tannic, like molasses
tomorrow, tomorrow--I will attend to myself
--not lose myself on smoke
rushing through me
this is way--in the half-light I am drinking, like them
they drank mourning
they drank, so long, ago in a bar by the river
they drank, and the frozen rushes cracked in the wind
and in the morning, it carried one away and one stayed
and one of them stayed
oh I, oh I--I am going without
who stays? who stays?
who toasts me and my leaving? no one! no stays for me
I am the observer, unobserved. the listener--unheard!
I am the boat, rudderless, unmoored
and the rain drops all around, plunking
the bamboo rustles and I hear the house settle
to order them into strangeness--there was a chance
I must go. to go--into the ash of the surf
me--squandered--who cares? who listens?!
to the words of a poet--yes! I name myself poet
who does it for me? no one! no one names me poet
so I must name myself--myself
the bamboo creaks and the house creaks
and I am coming to myself
no general, no lover, no victorious solider--
just this. limping and weary
what is this dust? so deep in me
I picked it up in a foreign city--like the plague
and this--and this, is all that I am.
is all I am--just one set of eyes hung on a poor framework
just one mind, trapped in hardest bone
and I am alone--I am alone--and will be
to the end of my days
when I dissolve
and the time is ticking forward
when I dissolve here--oh god! let me dissolve here
when I dissolve--when I am dust
I will be free then--I will be free!
god. may I rest here? may I rest?
on your fingers, in your hair, in your bones
I am dust--and the rain falls
once--I sang under the stars
I sang! far from here
when the night was black--I remember
I sang the horse-song and the star-song
and the song I made for myself
my parents listened--fast in their bed
and I waited, on the carpet
I sang the song of leaving-home, and of being far-distant
and of home gone, and of having no home
I am homeless--yes. like the crackheads
who line the boulevards, and sleep in their cars
we go back--we go back much further
there was a pond, where I set sail the leaf-pods
there was a pond-- that I remembered
six years ago--what is six years?
long enough to wander the streets of sorrow
I remembered, and there was a door
open, and beyond it the void
my heart-beat pounded, slammed--tried to leave me
some familiar ghost led me along the path
to where the door was--open only a crack
but the void was yawning and I turned back
and I turned back
I turned back--and I have come here
somewhere, I am bleeding
and I turned back--and I didn't sing
that is until just now, until just recently
I am. I am I? this is blasphemy
it sets me in shadow, but if I am not I?
then tell me--what am I am?