How do I not drink on a night like this
when news has shattered my heart? How do I
not lock my door and taste poison’s last kiss
from some glass’s moist lips when my body’s
memory lurches, suddenly startled
awake, craving surging through every pore?
What process of blind faith has even led
me to ask you this? Who will dare keep score
once I start my fatal marathon? Why
should I even care? My dark soul falls lost,
doesn’t it, hopeless in alcohol’s wry
abyss, twisting through endless void? What cost
to you if I grow numb? (What power’s there
still, leading me to kneel, whisper a prayer?)
Roger Armbrust
January 14, 2010
