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of such cerebral malfunction,
if not for an article I once read.
It defined for me exactly
how crank scours
the brain’s pleasure center,
scrubbing away dopamine,
adrenaline and other natural
highs. It didn’t stop me,
of course, but it did slow
me down for a day or two.
Not slow enough to keep
the damage from occurring.
Now only one thing can give
me that kind of feeling—like
I have the world by its throat.
And I am on my way to it.
Several Miles Farther West
I pass a small mountain
community, home to loggers,
retirees, and telecommuters.
My parents have friends
who live here, and for
about thirty seconds
I think about swinging
by. They have a pretty cute
son, who I once had a serious
crush on. We used to visit,
and on overnight stays Quade
and I would sneak out at night,
for nothing more than a little
