on a train heading east

If you were to ask how I felt, I would reply:
Permanently drunk. Drunk on dislocation.
Drunk as a split person who knows his
Sober self resides within but cannot be
Accessed because the opiates have shut
Him out of his own sober mind. Who stands
In two hemispheres, doesn’t even try to
Walk the line, befuddled by twin climates,
Languages, states of self. Lost in a blizzard
Of scripts, stories, fears and hopes. His head
Covered to protect him from the sun’s glare,
An Arctic sun which rains all the time and
Also burns. I am drunk on 24 hour English;
Unlimited Skype; tragic tales; the mundanity
Of city life. When do I sober up? And where?
In a ditch? At ‘home’? Speaking in tongues?


28.01.11

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