Three Days Sober
the stabbing silence in these transient hours
shifts under the breeze
. from the open window.
i lie back, rising from sleep eyes burning
. from sharp rays.
and listen to a muffled hum,
. the vacuum cleaner upstairs.
i flick last night’s ash off the sheets
where i dreamed of basquiat’s
. widow framed in yellow neon
stutter stepping on the cracked
concrete of times square.
. you know i threw out the last seven
cans after patti smith eyed me down in the autograph line
and i stepped into the moon washed night
. where i stood head-on to the east
pale as her hair.
i dropped the glad bag down the flight
. of paint chipped stairs
and listened to the crunch and crash
of aluminum against the bottom landing.
. horses sings from the stereo
the vinyl circling toward
. the last static before the needle releases.
waiting on the electric howl of the city sky,
. to go down the avenues i call my own
tracing the steps that i know so well
because i don’t know what to do today.
Harlow Crandall is from Rochester New York where he hangs out at the dive bar Monty’s Krown. He also writes and fronts his band New City Slang. He is currently working on his MFA in poetry through Queen’s University.