Almuerzo Desnudo

The following entry was written on a piece of yellow notebook paper in the clinic during my withdrawal sickness. I found it in the back pocket of the jeans I was wearing at the time and about to wash them, I searched the pockets and found this. I have no recollection of scribbling these words, but it was definitely in my handwriting. The piece of paper was soiled, folded, spun, and mutilated. It is copied here, word verbatim. I found it quite surreal and thought I'd post it.
For posterity.
Made it five times with Carlos under the shower that day soapy bubbles of flesh seismic tremors split by fissure spurts of jissom...
I made the street, everything sharp and clear like after rain. See Salvador in a booth reading soccer scores his face yellow ivory in the sunlight. I handed him two nickels under the table. Pushing in a small way to keep up the habit: Invade. Damage. Occupy. Young face in the blue alcohol flame.
"And use that alcohol! You fucking can't wait hungry junkies all the time black up my spoons. That's all I need for Pen Indef the policia rumbles a black spoon in my trap." The old junky speil. Junk hooks falling.
"Shoot your way to freedom, kid."
Trace a line of goose pimples up the thin young arm. Slide the needle in and push the bulb watching the junk hit him all over. Move right in with the shit and suck junk all through hungry young cells.
There is a boy sitting like your body. I see he is a hook. I drape myself over him from the pool hall. Draped myself over his cafeteria and his shorts dissolve in a strata of Banos con Agua Caliente...and all house flesh...toward the booth...down opposite me...Yo tengo feria. "Me a good buy on H."
"You're quitting? Well I hope you make it, kid. You gotta friend in me. A real friend and if!" Old Pete you dumb shit.
"Say you're looking great kid. Now do your self a favor and stay off. I been getting some really good shit lately. remember that brown shit sorta yellow like snuff cooks up brown and clear..."
Junky in cantina mensroom...invisible and persistent dream body...in that gray smell of rectal mucus...night cafe's and junky room dawn smells. Three hours from Rosarito and made it five times...soapy flesh...
"These double papers, he claims."
"Well, I thought you were quitting..."
I can't make it."
"Impossible quitar eso."
Got up and fixed in the sick dawn bongos of Tito Puente.
"Tu tomas mas medicina. No me hago caso, cabrone."
Colonia house in the smell of dust and we fucked...empty morphine boxes stacked four feet along the walls...dead on the surplus blanket...boy screaming...vecinos rush in...
"What did he die of?"
"I don't know, he just died."
Old Pete in Tijuana City room with his douche bag and his stash of codeine pills powdered in a Coca-Cola can. "I'll just say I suffer from indigestion." Coffee and blood spilled all over the place. Cigarette holes in the pink blanket...
"He just sat down on the curb and die." Esperanza told me on Ave. Nino Perdido and we cash a morphine script, those Mexican narcotic scripts on special yellow banknote paper...like a thousand peso bill...and we fixed in the cubicle room you reach by climbing this ladder.
No good. No bueno.