UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY - 12/2011
The Simmering of Sober
Realizations do not come cheap.
They linger in a cluttered apartment--under
half read A.A. literature and John Dorsey chapboks.
Sitting in the ugly brown
chair you bough for ten bucks
at a yard sale four years ago,
the stare out the window becomes
a gut wrenching war.
You know you're alone with
with the mice; Serving as a perverted
witness to 39 days of sobriety.
The world hasn't offered much,
only signs toward your inward.
As if this self-isolation is somewhat sad...
but in your mind, somewhat needed.
When the Walls Won't Crumble
That simple smile helps when
the suicide voices call your name.
Like an old acquaintance you
really do not want to see today,
but have no choice.
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