Warning: This sonnet reflects that attitudes and opinions of a young man bent on foolishly enacting his infatuation with beat poetry and outlaw culture in the dumbest of possible fashions (save maybe shooting someone in the head with an arrow). The funny thing about dope is that the longer you keep doing the more the scales of pain and pleasure tip towards the former and the more powerless you are to dig yourself out. It's worth noting that there were no shortage of occasions in the five years that followed this poem where I fantasized about going back in time to meet with this young author, beating the shit out of him, and robbing him blind so he could see what life as an addict was really about. It is a pretty good poem though.

Heroin

June 2012

I trudge into the car, strapped in for the endless ride to holy Port Richmond

Every bump on the jagged pavement sending my ossified calves grinding into the strength abandoned springs once called a muscular system

My back too tightens and aches from the strain of countless confused strung-out marches through the hostile territory

Day after day, I slog through this no mans land, my addled mind quivering at the explosions of red and blue that scream past me, careening towards a different combatant stationed elsewhere in this weary battleground

From my metal shielding, I see the twisted shapes of my kin in their entrenchment, and I see the battle scars around the arms of the veterans, and I turn my stereo up to drown out their icy prophecies

The war torn ruins that rise from the rubble gaze upon me with a blank and pitiless stare, I feel their eyes, and the curses they cast upon me for turning these monuments of industry into headstones

Through it all, the machine gun bursts of thought that come rapidly through my mind in waves of intensity and emptiness, yet stay locked on my mission. My sole ambition

I push and push. Pushing until the agony folds upon itself and doubles as I approach my target, until the agony folds on itself and doubles as I wait at the rendezvous, until the agony folds on itself and doubles during the equally agonizing voyage home

And yet when I return my burden lifts

I gaze upon you and my focus shifts

For as your smoky embrace warms my skin

My muscles melt, a warmth grows from within

And when, sweet heroin, I feel your smile

I know the pain just makes your love worthwhile