This is the dry drunk thing
they tell us about
when we're as dumb as a box of rocks
and barely able to walk.

It never makes sense
till it happens
and by then
the train's in runaway mode
and about all you can do
is just hang on.

At least at first.

My go to place
for pain like this
is any kind of relief within arm's reach,

so its probably a good thing
I don't run a liquor store or a pharmacy or a whore house
because the last thing someone in dry mode needs to do
is make whatever it is
wet.

I'll ride it out.
Maybe get a clue or two about stuff
and be better eventually.

But in the meantime,
you might want to stay back a bit
so I don't tear your arm off
or whine you to death
or fall in love.

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