angie was a chaotic blur on the verge
of self-annihilation when we met her
at one of jaspers' parties
she was double-fisting sixteen-ounce gin and tonics
occasionally speaking in tongues
laughing at the wallpaper and eating cigarette butts
with the smile of a newborn angel
and we adored her

globe spent most of the night
following her around
attempting to save her from the agony of tomorrow morning
his failure led to our discovery
that angie wasn't even aware there was a tomorrow morning
for her there were no breaks
no rest-stops
no sleep
she fed herself a diet of over-the-counter diet-pills
and diet cokes laced with vodka
there was alot of diet going on in angies' life
that couldn't compare with her abilities of denial

a few days after the party
globe and i hooked up with her at saint bulls cafe
where she spent her entire disability check on round after round
of long island ice-teas and fistfulls of percocet
kindly sold by dogwood daniel and his wife halo
once the entire stash of percocet were purchased
the couple joined our devasted table
and kindly accepted angies' offers of complete obliteration

at one a.m. the bartender closed the doors
and allowed us to mumble and drool in privacy
daniel had a key and a mastery of the antique juke-box
loaded up with paul simon songs and joni mitchell wails

an hour later angie stood up on the table and hollered
to the sea of empty tables that
there is no bridge over troubled waters
that's the whole problem
i gotta get somewhere but the fucking bridge is closed
then she slid down into her chair, popped a percocet,
examined her watch and began crying

once again, we are a gang of three
angie visits us every day in saint josephs park
sometimes she brings glorious leftovers of barbecued pork chops,
cold delicious french fries
and buckets of peppered cold-slaw
opiates compress hunger only until the smell of free-food
erupts in the brain and awakens the stomach

so we eat and smile and listen to angie talk about
devil-ghosts passing by in black-mercedes'
asparagus-gremlins cutting the wires inside her walls
desperate men carrying shotguns and hard-ons and sweat-stained lust
she often whispers when she's afraid
so we listen closer
chew our food with a lust of our own