Well a year ago today it was emptiness, like a 40 at the end of the night. I was a small glass table on the wrong side of the morning, just fingerprints against the absent white. Now I giggle at my transparency: I couldn't see the fruit on the laden trees. I couldn't taste the nectarines. My hands couldn't move to shell the fava beans.

So if my face still glitters like a Ke$ha twink and my gaze gets dreamy in my sunken eyes, I am not fucked up, just overcome by the endless beauty that is on the rise. I've got a scar on my neck but a calm in my soul. I am wet and awkward and alive as a new foal.

I was downing whiskeys like Houdini downed keys, like they could possibly help me escape. But now I've got a magic of a different kind, so I'm hanging up the silk hat and cape. I got a job selling beans and grains. I got a thrill inside that I cannot contain. I got my man coming up on the evening train. I'm in it to win it this time.

So if it still reads "Russell + Bla bla bla" on the urinal partition at the Starlight Lounge, you can scratch it out; better yet, let it pale beside the new bright happinesses I have found. I've got a scar on my neck but a calm in my soul. I am wet and awkward and alive as a new foal.