Scott’s Mountain

It all came down to Scott. Last man standing.

The mother had gone a couple of years ago. Then, the dad. Scott had his brothers ashes in a plastic bag.

How could an entire family have AIDS.

The family that sticks together plays together. They were junkies from day one.

I don’t care. I just don’t. Maybe I should ride some moral mountain horse, but I don’t. I won’t. And you can’t make me.

I don’t care what kind of drug program you construct. The kid will do it or he won’t.

I’m just lucky if we make it through the fucking day.

Scott and I both have avascular necrosis. No one really knows how you get it. I had never heard of it.

Your bones die inside your body.

Pain is a marriage, You get it from kissing a bellboy’s lips at the Hotel du Nurd.

Pain is bent eternally and its ankles have danced down the wrong side of the mountain.

Dope.

Weed.

A lot of weed.

Scott and I didn’t have the energy to take the brother in the plastic bag to the top of the mountain.

No romance. In us.

It hurts to move in the shallows.

There’s a room where the light won’t find you

Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down

Deals with god are common.

The brush took the stones. No more brother in the bag. Shakes out the bag like white lava.

Come on, baby, let me steal this moment from you now.

He cried. They all do.

Swallowing places.

An idling in the wind. The clouds are never too far away.

The willows laughed. Suzy gotcher number. Go ahead, erase the past. All brothers arrive in plastic bags. Last one standing.

Fucking bones.

Rout will be returned five fold.