I 
Merriam-Webster
Entry: black·out
Pronunciation: 'blak-"aut
Function: noun
1 a : a turning off of the stage lighting to separate scenes in a play or end a play or skit; also : a skit that ends with a blackout b : a period of darkness enforced as a precaution against air raids c : a period of darkness (as in a city) caused by a failure of electrical power
2 : a transient dulling or loss of vision, consciousness, or memory <an alcoholic blackout>
i went downtown
bought a gun
from a guy with a limp
said he was called ‘lil peeps
asked me what I was going to do
so
i told him
your name.
I met a man who said he was Pontius Pilates’ bodyguard. Said he had the pictures to prove it. When I asked him what it was like he said-- It was a great gig. Pilate was easy to work for and between you and me I think Judas got a bad rap. I never believed in random runs at the moon or words that added up to literature. Poems that drop out of nowhere make me skeptical and the only person who really knows what life is like for the poor isn’t talking. My immediate reaction to this guy was to dismiss him out of hand. then I thought that what if he were right. What if it were true and what if I really could…
If Charlie Brown had married the red-headed girl
Once you’re down for the count there is no turning back
the clock.. No matter what is said and how the words taste
as they go down there will always be that sneaking feeling, a suspicion
that it was someone with your mouth and your face who had been taking
those breaths all along. You couldn’t imagine the disappointment in her smile,
can’t remember exactly when the sway went out of her hips.
In the end it’s predestined but you’re so determined to prove it wrong
you re-imagine the sky as your bed--clouds the only reason to fall asleep.
Maybe, if the timing is right, you will find another way back to the woman
who stole your voice and gave it to the moon. There are no guarantees--one person
lost doesn’t mean another will be found so you take what you can carry and leave
her to color outside the lines. The greens will find their way to the Mississippi River,
reds will find their way to her back pocket and the yellows are on their own—
you want to believe that rain will eventually bleed a hole in her story.
She takes a name that is familiar, places a language on the tip of your tongue
and when you wake it is morning. Your legs are heavy, the ashtray overflows--
you search for a leftover cigarette while she puts on her make up. The mirror is full
of memories and your mind wanders to the beginning-- when broken promises
had smooth edges that fit snug against this fable. The match sparks, sulphur scratches
your cheek and smoke covers your intentions. The light seems to dim and the last drag
is the sound of a world folding its wings.