Full Retreat

I fall back

from the front

in complete disarray

and teeth chattering confusion.

Shell fragments 

of general ledger flak bursts

lodge in the holes of my eyes

trailing white collar cordite smoke

behind me in the ambivalent wind.

I fall back

all the way to hopelessness

and infant panic

through high rise mausoleums

filled with filing cabinet tombs.

In the dark

I seek out the bright white mouth

of a florescent parking garage's

empty stomach.

Just a nothing place 

to hide in the bright dead light

and finish drinking

tiny bottles of white hot

black ink.

Just a place to go 

to be gone

and sit with failure.

The first thing you have to learn here

is that you're already dead

and that there's no place like home

because there's no place like home.