Belly to the bar
this is the place i could go
dancing in destiny’s afterglow
in a forest of folk and lore
cardboard sayings for a cure
no race to be won in the land of papered, big, book, restraint
in this dance life strolls with a limp
sobering how i get around…when drink is down
iron seats bequeathing intimate strangers
all making calls…24 hours a day…to other confidential visitors
each of us with our own bumper sticker philosophy
It drink it in as though, it were my original sin.
Tin boots beating at the paneled walls…that hold my mind in place.
A cool breeze canvases karma and comes away…whispered reminders of debts yet…to be paid.
How daring to not imbibe when the spirits surround my blind side.
The hoarse intonations gather at the base of bad decisions…
And, what I hear?
...there is no place to hide. I will find me!
My portrait…is a Popsicle beginning to melt.
Even if left untouched on a dusty shelf.
If my delusional image were turned and stared…pitifully.
My only response would be what it has always been,
“Never feel sorry for me.”
I came here to this crossroad…willingly.
The pain is the same as it had been before pills came along.
And, though I swallowed…stubbornly,
a team of high authority…felt they knew my psyche…better than me.
I have become a medical casualty.