Postcard 25

We blamed Bukowski, Miller, Nin when we
Try to find reasons for the way we
Tolerated the hard drinking, street fighting
Chaos of our youth (which I am tempted to
Mispronounce as that makes it sound almost
Pastoral-a childhood filled with ill-tempered
Friesans, bad ass Holsteins, and punk rock Jerseys)
The writer who has gotten off scot free in all this
Is the one hiding behind his hermit-like denial of
Fame, Power, Wealth, Celebrity, Attention, Love
We thought he was so noble
And we drank his koolaid down
Grew drunker on it than any
Concoction of liquor and codeine cough syrup
Didn't once question the way
He presented mental illness and
Spectrum disorders as the
Signal of divinity, Suicide as the
Act of a bodhisattva, a
Nervous breakdown as pregnant with meaning. But
Now we are older and we See More Glass