A Drinker's Affirmation

The streets are filled with my tribe; we congregate in the parks and on sunlit corners or in dark noisy rooms Some sit home alone in the company of the evening news and maybe a carryout fast-food burger or with friends sitting in circles talking, endlessly, in circles We are a tribe of memories Of reckless flirtation of arguments-savage cruetly unleashed by the juice of shiny new cars as useless heaps of twisted steel of emergency rooms, of cell doors clanking behind us, of wondering if we were raped last night of not remembering too many nights time and life lost, not being able to explain what happened last night to accusing spouses, parents, children, bosses, cops none of whom will ever understand We are a tribe Of joy and hate and lust of rage and shame of fear and the courage that comes from being just stupid enough not to be afraid We are a tribe of need sucking the life out of those we need and those who need us We are charming and dangerous we are eloquent, until we're incoherent And twisted, smashed. tore up from the floor up helpless as toddlers and liking it stumbling and tumbling to whatever dark depths each of us can find The streets are filled with my tribe; the streets, and the smoky bars and the cells and locked hospital wards and the cold hard ground We are everywhere, and forever Written November 6th, 2001 © on Nov 06 2001 09:47 AM PST   0 • 1