Damian Rucci

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year for Narcotics

and bad decisions, a Christmas snow storm 
a slap of talcum powder in the face of Missouri
we’re exiles, we’re bruised soul bohemians, we’re
far from home and our actions bare no consequence
in God’s country, our daily bread is amphetamines
our sacrament is the blood we spill, the teeth we lose
the poetry we sing drunk on the back porch 

It’s the most wonderful time of the year for

a taste of the sun, the drugs have run out 
now we lay stupid, now we’re sick 
but God takes and God gives 
we’re in the art gallery and the only art alive 
now is Milo cooking DMT in someone’s silver spoon 

It’s the most wonderful time of the year for 

a dance in the snow, spinning on Alvorado avenue
like the samaras falling from heaven, would they still  
spin so free if they knew the concrete beneath them?
If they knew the street is where they go to rot? 
From the couch, the Christmas light projector
paints us portraits of our past decisions 
it casts the mountains we’ve built to hide behind
You say, “it’s so romantic getting caught up in it all, isn’t it?”

It’s the most wonderful time of the year
to piss it all away.

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