staying up was always a badge of honour:
I did it because I could after the Europeans
showed me. What am I learning, laughing
at my reflection in a nightclub mirror, somewhere.
It's nearly ten years since the summer
I spent in the bathroom, misrepresenting
the world to
anyone in my field of view,
showing it so expansive and attainable,
my shame at the glib head rush of
twitchy commentary,
propelling me to the morning
and up to lunch that had no need for hunger
needing no lunch and beyond to dinner,
a corner shop scraping,
and my own bathroom, the different groupings
of the dimmers
none putting a spin on it
all pointing to the light of
the different shades of my jaundice.
The badge I wore with such
honour then.
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