I still think dirty even when I don’t want to, like an old fashioned LP with a skip, coming back to the same line, same thought, some desperate sense of loss, feeling silly for losing something I never really had or had so briefly I can’t imagine having it, these same thought rolling through my head just as they did for real when long ago (maybe not so long as I think) on my bed, cell phone clutched in one hand, and you know what clutched in the other, thinking I ought to stop thinking yet knowing I can’t, dirty thoughts I haven’t thought much about sober, creep into my mind without the excuse of drink, most often this time of night, before sleep;, and later, shaken awake by the dreams they inspire and forced to resolve the issue or lay awake, still firm in my conviction, and desperate to find a more pleasant means to deal with it, shaken, as James Bond says, but not stirred, tossing in my life or lack of it until I finally shake it out.
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