John Dempsey

Steps to the Madhouse

the fabricated light poured, in through the window
over
the ceiling and splashed
across the white
painted walls

at home
it’s 4
over here-
10
and I
am 25
sitting
in the dark
(writing this!)
with a warm
beer

in bed
snored my woman
unaware
of the international spies
walking about
the shadows outside

or of the old time pistolleros
quietly smoking
in the café
next door

I am intoxicated and exhausted
jet lagged and airplane
cocktailed-
drunk
at 17000 feet with 2 tabs of codeine
swimming
in my stomach-
and now
sitting in the dark
(writing this!)
there are
3 grams of Stardust
on the desk
1
of Afghan hash
and I split a cigarette down the middle
work
a filter from my tram ticket
and begin to roll
the ‘Cone’

it comes out bent and misshaped
but
when I take a flame
to the paper’s end-
it lights
and as the smoke
moves with the current
of large,
lung-filling
waves,
I know

it’s good enough
and I smile,
because-
Mr.
Dempsey - Oh
Johnny
baby,
Mr.
Johnjohn
(your
deranged
friend and
perverted
confidant)
has finally
made Amsterdam