Fearful Moments of Tranquility

calm before the storm,

drinks are poured, a hot embrace is sought, found,
lost—same old songs. dance little monkey, dance!

terrible silence on the other line, the phone never rings,
brutal hangovers every morning, by midnight deep into
the second fifth; glass-pipes break on the floor,
spikes are heated then disposed.

the bears visit the zoo to gawk at the prisoners,
forcing them to dance with a whip while asking passersby for quarters;

distant affairs, strange happenings, all produced
by strong hash, blow mixed with poison,

aching throat, coughing blood,
“how do you do?” the doctor asks,
sees the blood results,
grows pale like a ghost (maybe he is)

as the nurses ran to see the medical wonder,
still alive despite having bourbon instead of blood
and lethal amounts of drugs keeping the mind alive and active.

horror shows. in a cage, “come see the alcohol man,”
cries the jester. somewhere in the past, feeding tigers
vodka popsicles; somewhere along the
curvy railway there’s a pot filled with gold, ripe for the taking,

no one goes to find it, the fairytale-believers are all dead; dreamers buried,
their works burned in a monstrous bonfire that swallowed the world,

shivering from the numbing cold, refusing to go back inside,
colder within than without, forevermore picturing ships traversing
dark, strange oceans, battling ravenous monsters
and starving waves, the sailors jump to escape,

momentous nightmares, horrible trips; the endless charade
as the mind dissipates slowly but steadily,
high on acid despite not having popped a pill for a whole year.

sobriety died in its sleep, tasting drugs, smelling bourbon,

another child abandoned behind dumpsters, one more life
ends before it could being, one hurtful breath and it’s over;

the game’s an infinite regress, defining sanity and insanity
as the blow burns the nostrils and
bourbon becomes cognac and the woman across the street
hot.