(I just realized there
was a movie with the
same title treating
of a similar subject,
I wanted to mention
that this poem has
no link with that movie
that I've never seen)
He was a beautiful
Chilean boy
Dark hair
Strong eyes
He had left behind
a collection
of books in my home
The complete
writing of
Che Guevara
I was hoping
that I could
keep his books
But he came
back for them
I was already
loving the guy
Boris was
well known
for taking drugs
He was on a
trajectory
that got us
all excited
We did acid
together and
he introduced
me to happy hardcore
Any drugs
he could find
he wanted
to try
He always
wanted to
do more
Mixing whatever
powder with
whatever alcohol
I observed
and choose
not to go
all the way
While my
other friends
would follow
his lead
I held back
helping them
while puking
When you get
sick, while on
chemicals like
pcp or ketamine
you body puke
but there is
nothing to do
You stand there
next to your friend
suffering
until the body
process the drugs
From acid
to pcp
to coke
They all soon
started shooting
I would see Boris
looking at the
horizon
commenting about
the mischief
I was doing
with a friend
in town
smoke bombs
breaking in
homes, boats, car
burning urban
structures
He was reaching out
for something else
maybe I could help
Maybe our mischief
could help him
get a rush,
while
not on drugs?
The last time
I saw him
He would repeat:
I'm not an addict
while I wasn't
confronting him
A new batch of heroin
that just came
from out west
arrived in town
His friend
for some reason
decided to quit
that night
That night
he shooted
that night
he made fun of them
Guys this
stuff
is so good
That night
he sat with his bass
played a few notes
He was found
still sitting
his fingers
on the strings
stiff
motionless
