Speech After Long Silence Poem by Alexander Hawkins

We've been moving at 1038 miles per hour for months
and yet we've gone nowhere. Awake sleeping. The cataracts
clouding our vision collide, an early morning blood rush with sneaked
liquors splashing against the sides of our ill stomachs. You joined me
halfway through this winter vacation that became extended and extended
until the dead birches blossomed into bric-a-brac palms,
leaves lashing against the sides of our peachsoft skin until we gave up
on giving up and gave it the give go.

I thought you were snorting up the words of your old books
but you were just asleep, snoring. Childhood logic, like factories pumping
clouds into the troposphere, or god's pissing rain - that's all we've got
when our conviction wobbles. Who'll take charge, who'll starch our white-collar
work shirts? Given the choice between freedom and security,
what would you choose? You can't claim everything
and nothing all at once, but without me you'd try and you'd try
until there was nothing worth trying for.