I don’t know how it is

lying there on the sidewalk

emaciated, arms shriveled from intra-venous

inspected now as she is

I can only imagine how it feels

to sleep on asphalt

with newspapers for a blanket

cars roaring and screeching

unceasing echoes of night in the city

and quiet stealthy intruders

in the forms of insects and strangers

I never slept there. she did

I don’t know

it might have been

a lengthy custody dispute poorly contested

to lose my children because of

a vaguely misunderstood disorder

unable to manage my affairs

or alcoholism, physical abuse

laid over the mental torment

I really don’t know how it is

to stick a dirty needle underneath my skin

or how the vomit spills up my throat

as I crouch down in a corner

And voices pop and bop and jive and jostle

in another room, people I never knew

and only see for this evening

And I don’t know how it is

that the city clears the streets

of bacteria and humans

technicians jotting down notes

pealing off sanitary stickers

sending the multi-lighted vehicles

at hundreds of dollars a minute

Taking this dead woman now

into their business

after the last spittle has dried

on her lips and the scavengers stolen

her cheap rings

And the stench of urine

curls around my head

in the fluorescent gray-blue light

in the tunnel

I don’t know how it is

as I turn, crunching a pebble

into the concrete

under a hard leather heel

looking for my door handle

How could I?

I have only seen it

as tonight and the night before

and tomorrow

And it only hits me

when I’ve made my way through the maze of automobiles

and the rest of my daily routine

and returned to the splendid condominium

easing my shiny German car into the garage

hitting the transmitter button

and dropping my briefcase on the clothes dryer

loosening my tie and leafing through the mail

reclined upon the couch

how it is

to live without running water

or to lose the taste of food

because I eat coffee and cocaine

And I don’t know how it is

to sleep in a dream of angels

that melt, turn inside-out

and breathe fire under my skin

to see the blackness of the eternal void

open up with crystalline precision

and tell me it’s time for my next fix

and I have no money

but I have my body to sell

if I can’t panhandle or steal it

And I don’t know how it feels to look up

at the tanned and glistening faces

shooshing up and down the corridors

and know that I don’t belong

and lost so far

I really don’t belong to myself

it’s a mystery

And how she felt

in the tedium of that long day

that followed every night’s ride

on the tip of a steel syringe

soaring for a moment

far above the pain and compulsion

But I think that Julia did

or was it Nadia, or Marie?

there’s no identification

because she lived it

And knowing that that’s not quite living

living with the realization

looking at the failure that it’s all become

I really can’t say that I know

unless