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
nothing.
Only
to feed the mouth-hole with
piped-in alcohol.
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…
Tomorrow!”
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.
#3337 (4-1-2012)
