“Her nights are full of the red teeth of death”
– Jim Harrison


Jim? Jimmer? We need to talk.
Enough with the death.

“Her nights are full of teeth-staining red wine,
Her smile drunk to the devil’s own lees”

Or such. Nice, right? No death.

This is an intervention Jim.
Going to get you some dream rehab.
Some art therapy.
Make your mom some metaphor ashtrays
and popsicle-stick poems.

They don’t make Narcan for your problem Jim.
Might not be a next time.



Day 6, 28 Days of Unreason

10 thoughts on “Rehab

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