The following poem was originally written in 1994, when Tequila was my poison of choice. I have been sober for fifteen years this coming September 11.
wake up/if you can
rolling over/from one dead
day/into the next
your mouth
a dirt filled trench/
shoveled with/bad vices
an empty fifth/evidence
the gold bottle cap/spilled
across the room/
the stained paper bag/
at the edge/of the bed
your aching body/aching
screaming/
Stop it/You're killing me.
tequila gold/
burning fire/
drunk maker/
liver sodomizer/
what a head/ache
you’ll wake up/
if you can.
9/24/1994


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