Fog held the neighborhood
in drug-induced bondage.
An adverse fortuna scribbled over
our designs on the day
like so many fingernail scratches
on the lens of the eye.  

Kevin slept in
his own piss
on the bathroom floor.  

I flushed and turned from the window
above the toilet’s milky rejection, stepped over
what could be his corpse.
Trying to forget last night
and what I have become.  

Shaved in my own room. Rinsed
the razor in last night’s water
poured in a dirty coffee mug.  

Little black and gray bits of me rose
in the foamy head and then disappeared.  

Later today, I’ll flush them too.
Consider drowning.