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!
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!
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.
My town is saw dust pasted with Elmer’s glue…
It is a bitter-root.
All hung from a broken clothes line.
Then eagerly wrapped in a metal song.
To locate it?
Extend a dampened index finger to the air.
A gentle breeze of dirty diaper and bargain store candy…
will point you there.
Simple abstracts of a pool melting with bleach blonde hair.
But of course, there is a Central avenue heading toward mediocrity.
Travelers among the cracks in pavement unearthing blunts of conformity.
My town regulates in a rash of red radish blemishes.
And, cankers living amid infected sores.
My town did not ask for me.
Nor, I for it.
However, we both tow the line with similar peculiarities.
There are far worse things to be then…old and foolish in sobriety!
Old and Sober
I’ve cleaned hell for you.
Misery I gave a makeover.
Affliction I made a lover.
Hades became my mother.
Deep in the swell I cannot forget hell’s bell.
The others do not look like me.
But they have seen the chains that have not let me be.
Everyday I think myself free.
I must remember my master holds the key.
Behind all the anonymous trees.
Knotted limbs pointing.
Knuckled ancient index fingers directing me back.
Faithful flasks distorting the facts.
Dear devil in the facts,
no one chooses a room without a view.
Sinful saints are not born of your brew.
This is nothing but a masterful path…
persons praying in their own liquidated aftermath.
Sobering fact…this daily reprieve the further the distance,
the more the need.
old and sober.
10 cent lover?
Dime store dreamers?
Bell Bottom ballads
Night terror believer
Millions of minimum wage minions with mental health pain relievers.
Daily reflectors dialing jesus and his punch drunk protectors.
Dancers in the weed awaiting synthetic spice dictators.
Human drones giving away the final rose
All the Devil’s seekers.