When you called phenomenon of craving
an allergy, the Rubik’s cube clicked in
place—how drink’s comfort followed with raving
night after night, waking next day in den
of pain, razor blades of fear and despair
slashing every pore, finding brief relief
only through drink again, hoping to pare
the party down to just one beer, belief
my brain could control my hand’s insane grasp
for the glass, suffering once more my soul
soar then slowly crush into dust. When you clasped
my hand, your clear eyes glowing as Rigel
and Sirius gleam, at once I sensed our
first step in seeking some higher power.
Roger Armbrust
November 5, 2007
