My Tomorrow Place

Perhaps, I should count myself lucky to have a tenure riddled with…

‘the wisdom to know the difference.’
My battles were mine to own.
In each and every instance.
I removed my tomorrow place.
And, the everyday…of its own importance.

There were fewer paths to strife…
But still, the walks, holding its hands, are still nearby.
Dear prudence has taught…not all journeys are fair.

The gift of pain is benign.
In these massive woods of recovery,
It is a simple route to getting lost.
A struggle and stumble each day to embellish with forgetfulness.
So often times, an err to my judgment.

No matter, I must still go my own way…If only for today

Stepford Strangers

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

the Spirits

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!

Twist in My Sobriety

Twist in my Sobriety?

All God’s children need traveling shoes.  Drive your problems from here.  All good people read good books.

Now your conscience is clear…

I hear you talk, girl!imageedit_4_8301598671

Now that your conscience is clear!

In the morning I wipe my brow.  Wipe the miles away.  I like to I can be so willed.

And, never do what you say.  I’ll never hear you!  And, never do what you say!

Look my eyes are just holograms.  Look your love has drawn red from my hands.  From my hands you know you’ll never be…more than a twist in my sobriety!  We just poked a little pie.  For the fun people had at night.

Late at night don’t need hostility…the timid smile and pause to free.  I don’t care about their different thoughts.  Different thoughts are good for me.  Up in arms chaste and whole…All God’s children took their toll.

From my hands you’ll never be more than a twist in my sobriety.

Cup of tea, take time to think…yea!  Time to risk a life…a life…a life.  Sweet and handsome, soft and porky.  You’ll pig out until you’ve seen the light.  Pig out until you’ve seen the light.  Half the people read the papers.  Read them good and well.  Pretty people, nervous people.  People have got to sell.  News you have to sell.

You will never be more than a twist in my sobriety!

Tanita Tikaram

 

Drug Take Back

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.”100_1238

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.