domestic carcass, dogs barking, etc.

i call this one giving thanks.
for friends, for books,
for losing my grace
in the empty pages of your confession,
in the low-light murmurs of my obsession,
twelve a.m. and spirits guide me
onward, homeward,
back to you, friend,
back to you.

it's unspoken but it's true.
our eyes, our smiles,
our stricken sound
among the the forests of writhing bodies,
among the downtrodden and with the shoddy,
ten at night and you drive me home,
backwards, forwards,
to sanity, friend,
to sanity.

they're one and the same,
if you know what i mean.
i wish i could give thanks for everything.