Where is the house and where is my car and what the fuck is that and who is this and why am I awake before dawn limbic alarm clock shock buzzer zizzing screaming emergency evacuate run run run lion crocodile flood tornado apocalypse siesmic limbs registering logarithmic Richter acceleration into morning.
Insomniac exhaustion calls for coffee but really on top of this? The bean grinder shrieks. You reconsider cigarettes. Juice for soup suggests bloody marys. Comfortably Numb gummies will take an hour; benzos twenty minutes but the country just ran out for a week and even at the low dose for REM sleep disorder you rediscover the withdrawal symptoms experienced when you titrated off eight times that dose twelve years ago.
I was doing well in remission with minimal meds until the current circus of the damned rolled over town. I had my own imps to deal with they were mostly under control doing very well thanks for voting for hell.
DON’T BLINK
About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 
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