Raw Road Salt

Passion's overrated anyways
– Dissolved Girl, Massive Attack

Striding without purpose, shoulders slumped
and in defeat,
Down a non-level brick walkway, lined on either
Side with leafless trees,
An anti-heroine contemplates the endlessness
Of the stars; palpitations of unseen
Origins guiding her path. Behind her she leaves a
Wispy trail of smoke-tinged blue air.

Powdery snow gives way to crunchy road salt,
Though the difference barely registers
In her iPod-deadened ears; texture's hard to
Feel without direct skin contact: three-day old
Stubble's the same as baby's bottom sooth
To a gloved hand.
Texture's a good word, she thinks, breathing
In cold and exhaling fire from her ruby lips.

Convictions saved, files transferred to internal
Hard drive; less degradation,
Less chance of file corruption – repetition of
Mistakes already been made before.
I choose to live a-chromatically, Crown Royal
purrs, trickling from a ribbed glass bottle
And into the oblivion of her digestive tract:
Instant warmth at the price of sobriety.

Sweet Jane St. Clair, would you let me touch
the golden fibres of your hair?
Or, perhaps you'd like to touch mine, I assure
you it'd be fine – just do it, once, please?
That wonderful tease, she just laughed at me.
Memories scheduled for deletion have
A nasty way of making themselves heard,
Regardless of the way they make you feel.

Crossing the street, feeling the road rise beneath
My feet, I can no longer rationalize
The redness of my cheeks: she came on to me!
No, logical me titters, that's just Royal talk –
You know full well who done what.
Instant illumination accompanies this realization,
Yes, it was me, I came on to Jane –
Beautiful Jane: my last attempted fling.

Cold sobriety returns as I stare into the bright,
Starry lights of a Snowplow's headlights:
Ashes blown away on the winter winds, bottle
Falling from nerveless hands.
I, she, we, cheeks flushed with memories, don't
Feel a thing as the THUNK awakens the driver
From his pleasant wet dreams – bringing the
Truck to a stop 100 feet later. 100 feet too late.