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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of cc&d (v222) (the July 2011 Issue, You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:						This is also in this 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback “Exploding on the Scene” Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book:

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How I Loved Myself On Drugs

Andy Roberts

Oxycontin, oxycodone, hydrocodone,
nodding on narcotics, boatloads of soul,
incandescent cataracts. I’m the genius of Sigma Chi,
your latin lover, a 300 bowler, I’m the devil
beating his wife in a thundering rain
six miles south of the Oopalaussa River,
hoping to hit Kentucky before dark.

Down below the pine line, listening for southern accents,
I found Tom Petty’s nephew in a Walmart Supercenter.
He was fresh out of morphine, he was nodding too.
We were listening for Anna Nicole, for son Daniel,
we were hoping of hopping a boat for Nassau.
Dr. Drew, Dr. Phil, Dr. Ruth, John LaPook, C. Everett Koop,
the former surgeon general of The United States of America,
recommended masturbation and was fired.
Or was that Jocelyn Elders?

The bottle let me down.
I caught the dragon.
I flipped the monkey the bird.
There’s a hole in Mommy’s head
where all the money goes.
Down the drain, up the chute,
over the lips and through the gums.

Toadlickers, gluesniffers, paint thinners, mouthwash, aftershave,
tonight we celebrate our love.
A stumblebum beneath a radiator
freeing the petcock for the green antifreeze.
I confess I hate myself.
I’m the ugly one, the mistake,
the unaborted fetus.
I still remember my first qualude in 1972,
how I loved myself on drugs.

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