Enough of this fearful plodding to find
serenity. I want to change the way
I feel. My body’s nest of wasps, my mind
a sandstorm blinding vision, sweep away
all reason not to drink. I want to change
the way I feel. Cover my flesh, stripped and
raw as a martyr’s corpse, with ancient, strange
aphrodisiacs. Wrap my brain in bands
of thick liqueurs, sweet as a prostitute’s
pores. Drown out my soul’s poor reality
with rich shots of Daniels or Dickel. Shoot
me. Stab me. Anything to set me free
from having to own myself, my demons,
forced to face life as an honest human.
Roger Armbrust
March 2, 2010
