All I know is she disappeared,
and I got sad,
so I drank myself
through the mountains
to the Super Bowl.
Woke up somewhere
in February
in handcuffs,
didn't know what to do
with my blues.
I vanished
from my life
for a spell,
visited hell
and thought of staying.
Made some tough decisions,
wished for revisions,
but can only write
the story
going forward.
These days,
I don't need much,
just some songs,
poems and cold water,
a little confidence.
New/old collarbones
shine like time
in band shirts,
attic bedrooms
and my heart.
Where do I start,
if I have already started,
and why am I frightened
when this is safe
and sound now?
I tell myself
not to look back,
but it is tough,
because it still
doesn't make sense.
Put one foot
in front of the other
and walk
with careful pride
is all I can do.