the Kid had quit the drinking game
moved out to the desert
was never heard from again
Nielson was still down south
still at it
deep inside the bottle
breaking into apartments
to sleep in bathtubs
swerving along the highways
head out the window
unlicensed and insane
the hood of his car
smashed up against his windshield
and there I was
headed back to Port City
cross another country
another time
to fight the winter
and keep at the writing game
everywhere I went around the world
the words were my companions
my drinking buddies
my travel partners
running through floodwaters in Jakarta
abandoned on a roadside in the Outback
in broken down hotels of Aleppo
dancing all night long
in the smoky bars of Sarajevo
on that goddamn Nantucket island
where they first found me
or I first found them
even on fire escapes in Wilmington
the country saloons in Austin
through the casinos of Las Vegas
back over the mountains to the angry Pacific
where I visited a few old haunts
but didn’t even bother touch the water
feel it on my fingers
I think back over the past months and think
hell, it’s been quite a year
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