Sometimes you've just got to be honest about where you are.

Got to admit that we are
digging this time—
it gives us an opportunity
to play the desperado—
put on that black hat,
don’t talk to anyone,
your pain incomprehensible
to all those vegetables.

Got to admit the cheap thrill
of it all—
smoking again,
drinking at lunch,
getting busted for speeding—
the down-beat kick
of on the road again
at least keeps
the spine intact—
judging how far you’ve come
by counting your bruises.