Epistle. To: Mercy Hunt

When I got home that evening not only was I trashed but the nurse was waiting up for me and was livid. What a total pain in the ass she said... and I said something like well anger doesn't suit you.. and she said what the fuck do you know anyway? It was at that point - and it was a low point -  it hit me like I was drunk dialing through an address book and no one else was around to pick up the receiver on the other end and that's like a terrific lonely feeling to have when you're drunk and want to talk and it seems the rest of the world is not around and so pretty soon you get the hint to just shut up. But! To sail away like the hundreds of boats did on the lake after the fireworks were over I said and their running lights slowly erased into the nighttime like candle wicks run out of wax and left to burn and to eventually dissolve. How could you do this she asked? Hearing her shout made my ears throb. All I did was go out I said. Look at you she said! I guess it was true. I did look like a mess. My bandages were unravelling and stunk like beer. I was covered in food stains. What a meal I said! And apparently I had wandered into the lake. The boats I said the boats! The soft casts beneath the leg braces were soaked, and what was inside those casts, like a pair of scared up legs dreaming of dance videos to come, would start to mold and rot if not taken apart and cleaned and have the system put back together immediately. And someone apparently took the liberty to place two ice creams cones - apparently chocolate and strawberry - impale them actually on the upright spikes of the metal halo holding my head up - and while it was probably a fun thing to do at the time but all the ice cream did was melt and run down over my shoulders like tributaries from a larger erosion. I didn't mean anything I said. But what that meant I wasn't sure I said. Can you not mean anything if you've already been out there and done it and then have to think about it afterward I asked? For lack of a better definition what I saw in response to my questions was both the living beauty of anger in its fine amplitudes of righteousness shot back through me like a sledgehammer but also what was there was the stasis of that anger and where it cannot go without doing more harm than already having it. Look at you she said. I wish you were not my problem she said. Ah. I can't tell you how much I imagined it earlier and how much a relief it was to be home then later on.