Thursday, May 10, 2012
The Drinking Room (The Poem)
This is the room where men are mended
It resides in a simple kitchen,
Flat green walls, with a white sky
And a beam of light, for the sun
(placed in the center of the ceiling)!
Here you can become a pickled pebble.
The stones of the mind, peaceful…
The heart stone quiet, pushed by
Only to feed the mouth-hole with
Here people of the neighborhood drink
Such in vim’s of darkness
Sponge-kissing the phallic glass
bottles of beer.
One stone eye closes, leaving the
Other to witness sameness:
Day after day after day…
A current agitates the wires in your head
Volts upon volts electrifying the torso!
This is the drinking room,
That hooks the hands and minds of
the dead, or dying?
Love is in the thirst and curse, the itch!
And we all get thinking:
“I’ll stop drinking!
I’ll be good as new…
But few ever do,
They just change rooms.
Note: it took me twenty-two years until I stopped drinking; I just kept changing rooms, now I have thirty years of sobriety.