Lost

The jail doors opened,
but I was still carrying
everything they'd locked me up for.

Two downers in my pocket.
A tangerine jumpsuit
folded over one arm,
then tossed on the cold
steel bench.
The sun was shining
like nothing had happened,
like they hadn't caught me
the night before
trying to steal a half gallon
of vodka.

I slipped on my Ray-Bans
and stepped into the morning.
No one was waiting.
No grand revelation.
No voice from heaven
telling me to get my shit together.
Just another day
in a life I hadn't figured out
how to live.

There would be more bed
bug infested mattresses.
More abandoned houses.
More bottles emptied
before the night was over.
More women who had learned
to stop answering the phone.
Daisies taken
from some poor sap's yard,
given too late to make up
for pissing on their couch.
There would be mornings
when I couldn't remember
how I'd gotten home,
and nights when I didn't care.
I had years to go
before I understood
that a man could spend
his whole life running
and never get anywhere.

That morning I had nowhere to go.
So I went looking
for somewhere to disappear.