Loft Brand Cigarettes

When John & I lived together in the loft downtown
we we’re both in our early twenties
he being a couple of years younger than me
was head first into the post-21 self-destruction

I had been running in place for a couple of years
chasing the dumb gods of rock & roll
with loose Christian girls, Psychopaths, Deadbeats, Drunks,
Losers, & Women who love Losers
like an old cartoon I just kicked up dust
with some invisible hand against my chest
the Earth beneath my feet shoveled by my shuffling determination
until I was deep running in my grave
I was ready to lie down for the count
& leave that roadrunner be

John was still working at the coffeeshop
did the entire time we lived there
I’d already quit
& was sometimes fucking this horrible lying brat of a woman
to pay my half of the rent
in the beginning

At first we slept in the big open room
a couple of feet away from each other in the dark & empty space
one on the futon, the other on the chair

Don’t remember when we got the fishtank we used as a writing desk
but I bet John picked it up on the street or by a dumpster
left for the pickings by some one-time aquatic habitat enthusiast
before we got that tank though there was this big box
which we had packed all John’s things in when he left home

That was the first time I’d met John’s father,
I wouldn’t see him again until we were moving out,
he came by to help us patch-up all the holes in the wall
we put in, fighting drunkenly in the winter

In between John & I cut ourselves off from the main vein
John built a cocoon of the place
picking up every couch he saw on the side of the road
it should’ve been ridiculous but most people enjoyed the luxury of it
visitors could be guaranteed two full cushions of American sofa

That old American furniture
that is unceremoniously burgled from Grandma’s houses
around the world
was being collected for a perpetually growing exhibit
in our living room

The fabric was rich with texture, patten & design,
thin corduroy rivets massaged your every aching muscle
with each subtle shift

Most of our visitors had no idea though
they came over at night
& no number of lamps could light that cavern

The ceiling was so high & the walls so long
that you could see a radiating aura around each bulb
a clear outline of their effect on the darkness
& something about just seeing that
made them seem always dim & dying
or like so much candlelight flickering hot above it's own wax

We never could afford A.C. so we kept the windows open most of the time
& sounds from the street would drift up to us at night
we’d holler at the bums & smash&grabbers,
kids our age in from the county & out for a night in the clubs
the street would answer us too
& we would meet it
sometimes drunk, sometimes naked, mostly with streams of warm urine,
hostility, laughing, gibberish, unintelligible declarations
of self & country

So people came over like they were going out for the night
I never knew why
it was a no-holds barred slugfest in there
I never wondered then, but I wonder now
if they thought that John & I were only like that for company
because the fight never stopped when they left
& John & I stayed the same animals when the sun came up

After a good night we’d pilfer from the ashtrays their choicest butts
& between forefinger & thumb
we’d roll out their contents into a bowl
& roll a couple of smokes
a little bit menthol, a lotta Camel, some already handrolled Bugle & Top,
the occasional slutty Marlboro, a little grass if we were lucky
they always tasted aged & roasted
& we smoked them first thing after when we woke up
& laughed & scoffed & coughed & took a good look around the place