Dealing with it

Done. Eyes like
ghosts of
a shattered bottle,
drunk and discarded,

taped loosely
to reality, no stronger
than a dead leaf
gripping a windshield.

The sun is back
by the time he leaves,
anchor chain cut,
adrift on pavement,

his constitution
bound together
with fading,
fraying bandages,

his past like
an old war wound,
a howling twinge
in every rainstorm.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Paul Simon, Hurricane Eye