Heat Death Of An Alcoholic
A disease called my liver.
the bottle, a messenger.
God ,
give me a sign
that this was my path.
On my way to the liquor store,
The burn in my throat had spread
to each square inch of my flesh.
The sweat of a drunken walk
now tinged with uneasy awareness,
each breath the sense of the word.
My rigid steps,
from 16th to Hubbell,
led me from life to deathlessness.
Dear God,
please allow my past piety
to grant me a bypass to Heaven's sea,
so I may sail to the shore
and self-fabricate my salvation.
my delirium is the harbor
where a lonely widow peers the horizon,
waiting for the bow in her image to become visible.
life stopped for something she lost at sea a lifetime ago.
Foster to Ash,
a stumbling soliloquy.
Please,
St. Mary,
Save me from my hepatotoxicity.
Cold concrete against my raging skin.
Palpitations—
Soon, a Coronary Arterial Blockage;
That car is the modern day redeemer.
I'd wave it down, raise my white flag,
if I could surrender to the sidewalk.
Sailing the double yellow line like a skipper;
Dodging other vessels like 20' waves of panic.
The captain charges three dollars a mile,
and leaves the counter on between rides.
Build a statue in its image:
The patron saint of cardiac arrest
in the chapel of vice.
Ash street has never been as dead as it is now,
cool spring air stagnant with the notion that something is happening outside.
The chance to be born again has passed.
There is no baptizing priest to clean me,
No headlights glaring at me to get up,
just the buzz of a neon sign
that advertises my cause of death like a chance to hit a jackpot.
I think I'll die worshiping false idols
in an attempt to get results.