Should Love change the locks while you've been drinking....

That's you! Lookin' for luck in all the wrong places. Walking home from the bar one night, walking the way most folks'll dance. You got the moon in your eyes and a song on your lips and who cares if it's off key, but that's when you realize that Love's changed the locks and that there's a strange man crawling through the window. You knock on the door. The first time gently, understanding. The second time loudly, just so she'll hear ya. The third time with the flat of your fist and the wolf inside is ready to huff & puff and blow this place in. Then the fourth time just in case you were wrong all along. That's when it comes down. From the third floor balcony. Its snowing socks & boxers across the neighbors car, button up shirts flutter down like dirty little ghosts stumbling on the wind, next your jeans hit the mud like paratroopers landing and then you notice your sweaters swinging in the branches lynched & hung for crimes they never understood. Now she's leaning over that balcony laughing hysterically, smoking your cigarettes and pelting you with selections from your own book collection: You dodge Kafka & Joyce,( probably because you read them too young), she misses with the Bradbury, Assimov & Dick. But somehow you knew they would never hurt you. Bukowski & Fitzgerald she launches wildly over the fence, and while you manage to catch a yellowed paged I-ching with one hand, Satre's The Troubled Sleep hits you straight between the eyes. You go down as you're pelted steadily with the greatest minds of the 20th century. That's when you see them come gliding down out of the dark. Love is peeling the CDs off your collection and sending them sailing towards you in a shower of throwing stars. You roll under a car with not a second to spare and watch your entire life kamikaze around you. How long you hide there you can't remember. You pass out to the sound of her laughing, her demon lover mounting her from behind while she hurls down like lightning the broken fragments of your life. When you finally wake up your in a different place. You're soaking wet with gasoline, you've got no shoes on and someones lifted your wallet. Theres a message written on your forearm, but it's been blurred out with sweat & dirt. YOu don't know where you are but you remember being here before. You do the only thing you can do: You get up.
But now what?
Drink bourbon and read Whitman to the windows. Slam dance to Rachmaniov with your teddy bear soul all alone. Strip down and pump irony naked in front of a mirror. Make a scarecrow out of old clothes that don't fit, drag the fucker out to the lawn and burn it at the stake: Salem style! Brush your teeth with beer in the morning. Hand paint self portraits on every gun in the house. Write haiku's along the shells of your bullets. Make voodoo dolls out of chicken bones, coat hangers & lightbulbs. Line 'em up along your window so people know who they're dealing with. Go pick a fight with a Christmas tree. Make love to a noose but don't skip the foreplay. Get a tatoo on a part of your body you can't see. Call work and tell them you won't be in 'til you get laid... or sober, whichever comes first. Then call the cops... call 'em whatever the hell you want, 'cause they ain't coming! Make up your own religion and preach the gospel to the bugs crawling out of the sink. Give them a god but don't let 'em see it, give 'em a handful of angels made out of paperclip origami, give 'em a devil and make sure it looks just like them. Then wait patiently to burn them alive with a flame thrower made out of a lighter, a can of lysol and a bible you wrote on the back of a napkin. Finally paint your TV screen black and remove the doors from every room in your home. Stack them up one untop of the other. Then pluck the electric cords from every appliance you got. Tie the doors together and make yourself a raft. At first it'll only be a lifeboat, it won't get you far and you'll feel the bump and drop of each wave you sail over. But in time, and with confidence, your raft will become an attack ship. You will find yourself the captain of a skeleton crew, your vessel will fly a Jolly Roger smile and your life will be written with a treasure map only you can read:
"X marks the..."