Hooked up.

When they ask if I’ve hooked up,
I get lost in the question.
I’ve been tethered to books,
like a junkie to his fix,
day and night, no break in sight.
I’ve been chained to a character,
dragging him through the dirt with me,
a shadow at my back,
never letting go.

I’ve been stuck in the lines of poems,
where the blues bleed and the warmth’s too fleeting.
I’ve been lost in stories,
ones that burn you slow,
like a cigarette’s last drag,
or the sharp edge of a bottle.

So, when you ask if I’ve hooked up,
I have—
more times than I can count.
But it’s with words and ink,
and I’ve got no plans to quit.
Not tonight. Not ever.

-G.