overweening personal ambition is no virtue;
but while i had it,
i could have danced on a bed of nails.
i came home
i came home with stuttered feet seemingly clambering for rooted ground, walking from one bus to another tolled by gin and sachet tea washed by red beer ~ slip on graveled streets in lamp~lighted corners one morning moments before the sun outside saw the burning inside me throw a stupor of sleep.