Just another, Just another

Just another night with images and sounds and feelings and thoughts swimming around and through me with the colors dancing upon the ceiling. That dry and empty feeling when you need a drink. Sleeping sober. The madness won’t have that, so it kicks up images and memories like a child who doesn’t get his way, kicking up dirt or sand until it creates a cloud surrounding his sadness. 
Just another poemless night sitting in a dark room I think hard about the word “and” and how repetition in general annoys most people, but fuck most people. You have to drive a point home if you want it to stick, I suppose.
 “Just another notch in your belt, you say?” Coyote responds to me across the kitchen while he shirtlessly cooks lunch for us. Setting down the pipe and looking away from one of his many paintings that are scattered around the room I look at him “Yeah. Time, space, distance, none of that helped me get over her. The more women I put in between she and I however did. I put another Notch in between us last night.” The room we’re in is small but warm like an embrace. There are paintings and National Geographic’s and a typewriter and a record player and books and books and books every which way you look, threatening to overwhelm you. “Riley, It doesn’t surprise me when you say you might be a sad person.”