Thursday 1/12/2006 10:44:00 PM

The night again awash in that usual sepia tone. The color of disregard. You may unravel the mummy, but underneath you'll still find only a corpse.

What is it about alcohol that makes all this loneliness seem only a dream. That now I sleep. I sleep until there's a reason to wake again.

It chases through my blood like a viral contagion. Full of apathy and inspiration. That I can exist in this state indefinitely. That I can still be a poet though I've nothing left to write of.

I wonder does every life have a method. As this is mine. To channel the pain into manageable footsteps. Each their own Jacob's ladders leading them in equal steps down to hell and up to heaven.

The ladder is not difficult to forge. The trick is in keeping it upright.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.