Aqueous Transmission

I find it rewarding to write
in the hangover mornings,
or early afternoons
when the smell of ribs and cigarettes
still sticks to your nostril and palms
and the tastes of assorted acids
threaten to invade your esophagus

like swallowing your pride
like swallowing your hopeless soul

when the rain in your jacket is still soaking in

freezing to the bone
freezing to your hopeless, ignorant soul

These hangover mornings when coffee seems to perpetuate
the eyes-wide-open-in-complete-adoration
feeling of the night-
everything you love about being alive
combined with everything death deals in

jumping for joy
jumping out of that pathetic little synthetic soul of yours

hangover mornings that turn to hangover noons,
with nothing to do but plan last night again
hangover mornings that keep me alive,
remind me I'm human
I'd forgotten in the immortal night
forgotten till my soul,
my laughably feeble soul reminded me