He gets used to certain states;
Riding alone in the morning
With the radio inaudible under
The whoosh of air coming in through
The barely opened window -
Then there is going alone to parties
And then leaving alone at the end of the night.
Sober, too.
Always sober. Alcohol lost its allure.
Baudelaire was a pussy.
Anyway, he got used to being alone.
Not Baudelaire.
He wakes up alone and stares at the clock.
He goes to the store alone and looks for
The food he wants.
He has never had to consider someone else
Or counted on anyone else
When it came to food choices
Or sleeping positions.
Not overnight, at least. Not when it came to
Actually sleeping and waking up
On a regular basis.
Ruts and portage trails running between Wilderness
Lakes in a far more fresh environment.
Either way, those ruts run single-file.
A lone horseman passes.
Get it?