It's Not Done, Yet

here we are at the park
you borrowed a bike and said
you could jump that, no problem
a bunch of people watched
while you launched
I carried you away from that
wired over stones and blood
I wield the dull knife
useful only for spreading fat
while you stand before this
high manic you won't remember any of it
waving a very sharp knife
fight
improbably I, or someone else
talks you down
probably offers you a drink
speeding you drive away
in someone's car
laughing with the door open
yelling
you call and apologize
again
and again
I hold you sobbing
unrelieved sorrow salt and snot
later you vomit black
I look up, you're holding on
for dear life to the rocks
and then the snow, oh god
the snow
you pissed vitamin enhanced there
marking the top of the world
in bright yellow and then
held the camera and swore,
half-amused and half-thought
I wouldn't get up