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a taller head, one
more little whiff
(what could it hurt?),
finally cresting
steep cliffs of speed,
rising above mundane,
towering over ordinary.
No sense of fear,
I sit in my room,
sketching beneath
pale lamplight.
No sense of foreboding,
I listen to Leigh
and Heather giggling
behind the too-thin
walls, doing
whatever
girlfriends do. At
last, they fall silent.
I immerse myself
in charcoal portraiture,
not even stressing about
the fact that it might
be a while before I have
time to sketch again,
or that I have most
definitely embarked on
a major bender.
But I Have
And not only that, but in
