Tuesday, December 30, 2014

The Drunken Lover

It's okay now, sweetie... Ain't it grand the wind stopped blowing?

The Drunken Lover

I just have to go,
no choices left or my brain
will melt and drain out
both my broken ears.

Your last word's been said to me,
said at me, really,
over and over
and my flesh has been burned off
my shattered sad bones.

I had hoped for change
and you reply with Vodka,
vanilla extract,
and a refusal
to put it all down or make
that last fucking cake.

‎October ‎29, ‎2010 10:58 PM

A recollection of how it was in 1994 though the photo is as allegorical as the poem is not. There were disheveled moments in our house but we never lost the walls. Beneath the photo, the caption is slightly reworded from of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 82.


  1. A sobering poem, if I may say so. Wishing you all the best of everything for 2015 and beyond.

    1. My reaction to your comment was a quiet and refined *snort*

  2. Gawd, the wind was howling here yesterday, and it continues today....bone chilling with no apparent way to recollect the warmth lost. I am thinking of my mother and her wine reply. Over and over.

    1. The weather is dry cold windy unkind here today as well. If we were visiting it might turn out a touch warmer for the both of us. At the least we could forget what is afoot in the world for a little while. I had my ways of getting out of the world every evening too. So many humans are too frail for so many different reasons, and then as if by magic, some of them turn around and gather what they need but most who are broken never really do for long.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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