Hemingway, Fitzgerald and I: Drinking and Writing

So sick, so sick.
I can barely see. I can barely
hear what you say. you keep saying. You
keep not saying.
good bye. why not. why not. what's 40 years or
one in billions. what's the point. what was
the point. what was
so fucking important. I ask you that.
I ask you that and you will
never, ever, answer. He was
sobbing at the foot of the stairs. Did you
ever see him sobbing before? No
you did not. Drive around the block,
drive around, drive around shorter or longer or
not at all not as you'd admit
as you meant to. What we miss. Oh I miss you though
we never meet. But we're here all the time. Listen.
We're here all the time.
We're not alone. You.
You are not alone.
I love you. You know I do. I love you
whatever. Fuck you too.
These are minutes. These are
all we have. Be sure. Be so sure,

Here they go. Here I go. I'm not sick.
I'm well. Its going well. Thank fucking god.

Thank god. Its god you know, in the air, what it is
its god
its God.