Bottles Without Doors

Riding away
from another
perfectly dark day…
               fleeing once again
               across the borders…
               out from the secure
into a strange land
where all the other
pale riders are
               escaping memory…
               in search of Jose
               and his agave…

into the canyons…
across the mesas…
in the shadows…
               in the corners…
               with the oily amber
               in my glass
reflecting light
on the walls and
on the ceiling…
               shimmering light
               that will numb souls…
               will distort perception…

will take away pain…
delivering me
into a momentary place
               a calming space
               where I never have
               anything to lose
nothing to gain…
and never will…
the sickness passes…
               I wake again…
               finding
               I’m out of control…

riding away
from another
perfectly dark day…

         R. C. Arquette
                    12/26/05