Last fix = fixed conversations

Dear golden bear, dear divine skeleton,
you pull me so far from everyone I know,
and the golden retriever still wagged its tail
even after being abused by its owner who had
a golden monkey on his back
with fists closed to the sad spot.

About two months ago,
I came across a scene
that had unfolded on the south sidewalk of west Burnside.
A junkie had overdosed.
He was being zipped up and loaded into
the back of an ambulance.
The paramedics were taking their time.

As I passed by,
a man wearing a ragged Portland Trailblazers jacket
from the Clyde Drexler days
confronted me.
His beard was long and filthy
and his eyes were cloudy milkshakes.
He mumbled something about darkness
coming to fruition in these times
and I knew it was true
the same way I know there is another world inside of the world
with different laws,
different gods,
strange animals,
altogether stranger creation.
You think it's a gamble, but I'm telling you,
it's for sure
it's nothing,
if not
guaranteed,
thorough,
and absolute.

and on that same day I saw "D.N.W.G.O. – Doesn't know what’s going on"
scratched pen on wood under a table at the university.
Two days later I saw "Jeremy D.N.W.G.O."
written in a different hand on a bathroom door.
A week after that, "Gabriel D.N.W.G.O."
on a light post on campus

I want to see D.N.W.G.O.
on the sides of buses,
on presidential campaign advertisements,
on gang t-shirts,
on flags,
on bumper stickers.
It's the truth
and if this is truly terminal, eternal,
then the truth with a capital T
means to be endowed with humility
for our brothers and sisters.

The body's just another
cage for the soul,
know what I'm saying?

I have adored the smell of
life and its other brother
harder than heavy metal,
harder than tough love,
and harder than I know how to fall.

Dear golden bear, dear divine skeleton,
when you roar,
it shakes the skin right off of my bones.
You wore a costume to the campfire
to make fun of what is not funny,
to lighten the load
like a freed goldfish
swimming in the seaweed brain of the architect.
Last dream breath = last fix = fixed conversations,
conjugal visit in an opiate analgesic jail block
on the elbow of a life sentence.