I see a distant flash of light and think
about her eyes, blue aurora at night,
feel flaming wind within me. Should I drink
to intensify this moment or fight
its mystifying flight? What’s my excuse
to break open a case of chaos one
more time? Is it my will calling abuse
a lover, or ancient craving alone
pushing me from my cell phone, stumbling toward
that fateful glass? I perceive some power
rushing me to my knees, fantasize swords
gashing my bowed head, sense bloody shower
across my carcass and carpet. I stare
inside flinching closed lids, whisper a prayer.
Roger Armbrust
March 11, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
SOARING WHERE I LOST MYSELF
I lied my way to insanity, turned
silver chains of care into barbed wire for
ripping loved ones’ flesh and psyches, then burned
old photos of family just to soar
alone through paranoia’s black-ink mist.
Denial portrayed falling as flying.
Shocked by my drunk frame’s crashing, I’d insist
I was fit to fly again; thought lying
paralyzed in my disease’s mire would
appear to others a heavenly state.
But now this sponsor guy tells me I should
surrender every day. Man, how I hate
being told what to do. Still, my hazy
brain believes him when he says I’m crazy.
Roger Armbrust
March 10, 2010
silver chains of care into barbed wire for
ripping loved ones’ flesh and psyches, then burned
old photos of family just to soar
alone through paranoia’s black-ink mist.
Denial portrayed falling as flying.
Shocked by my drunk frame’s crashing, I’d insist
I was fit to fly again; thought lying
paralyzed in my disease’s mire would
appear to others a heavenly state.
But now this sponsor guy tells me I should
surrender every day. Man, how I hate
being told what to do. Still, my hazy
brain believes him when he says I’m crazy.
Roger Armbrust
March 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
CERULEAN
Your eyes gazing at me in natural
light, each iris flecked by afternoon sun:
this must be what astronauts see, spiral
of propulsion lifting them to heaven;
what ancient Roman poets saw, glowing
Mediterranean stunning senses
so they viewed it even on land, bowing
to your color in leaves, how rain rinses
entire fields to this very day. Love, you
smile in disbelief, feeling I distort
your essence. It’s no accident this hue
centers in your sacred face. No retort
can foil glowing truth I perceive: bright spheres
like seas, reflecting passion in their tears.
Roger Armbrust
March 9, 2010
light, each iris flecked by afternoon sun:
this must be what astronauts see, spiral
of propulsion lifting them to heaven;
what ancient Roman poets saw, glowing
Mediterranean stunning senses
so they viewed it even on land, bowing
to your color in leaves, how rain rinses
entire fields to this very day. Love, you
smile in disbelief, feeling I distort
your essence. It’s no accident this hue
centers in your sacred face. No retort
can foil glowing truth I perceive: bright spheres
like seas, reflecting passion in their tears.
Roger Armbrust
March 9, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
FOURTH STEP
I ran from it, frightened of revealing
my sick secrets. Morning before my fourth
anniversary, I sealed it, kneeling
in thanks, calling my sponsor, smiling mouth
asking for help on the fifth. He okayed
the next week. That night I wanted to drink,
body’s old reflexes flinching from days
when celebration simply meant no-think
guzzling to senseless sleep. I slogged through three
meetings, obsession at last lifting when
I admitted my craving. Heads agreed
with my longing, nodding yes to my yen
for lie’s soaring, recalling their own sad
yearnings to breathe false balm of Gilead.
Roger Armbrust
March 8, 2010
my sick secrets. Morning before my fourth
anniversary, I sealed it, kneeling
in thanks, calling my sponsor, smiling mouth
asking for help on the fifth. He okayed
the next week. That night I wanted to drink,
body’s old reflexes flinching from days
when celebration simply meant no-think
guzzling to senseless sleep. I slogged through three
meetings, obsession at last lifting when
I admitted my craving. Heads agreed
with my longing, nodding yes to my yen
for lie’s soaring, recalling their own sad
yearnings to breathe false balm of Gilead.
Roger Armbrust
March 8, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
WHERE LIGHT THINS INTO NOTHING
I slouched blinded to taking the first step.
Slinked into rooms to get a woman back.
Couldn’t envision life without drink. Kept
silent in last rows, huddled like a sack
of empty beer cans, wracked bones crinkling when
I’d flinch at an offered hand, wary of
eyes like Christmas candles, suspicious grins,
voices chiming bullshit like let us love
you till you can love yourself. I didn’t
stay long. A few miserable months. Slipped
on slick peel of fear, slid on old resent-
ments back to my neighborhood sports bar. Whipped
down six quick O’Doul’s, kidding myself. Then
came Coors, Black Jack. Of course, blacked out again,
tumbling inside craving’s endless turbine.
Roger Armbrust
March 4, 2010
Slinked into rooms to get a woman back.
Couldn’t envision life without drink. Kept
silent in last rows, huddled like a sack
of empty beer cans, wracked bones crinkling when
I’d flinch at an offered hand, wary of
eyes like Christmas candles, suspicious grins,
voices chiming bullshit like let us love
you till you can love yourself. I didn’t
stay long. A few miserable months. Slipped
on slick peel of fear, slid on old resent-
ments back to my neighborhood sports bar. Whipped
down six quick O’Doul’s, kidding myself. Then
came Coors, Black Jack. Of course, blacked out again,
tumbling inside craving’s endless turbine.
Roger Armbrust
March 4, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
YEARNING FOR THE ENEMY
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
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
Monday, March 1, 2010
KEYBOARD
I’ve stayed away from you too long, fingers
lost in air’s loneliness, reflexing like
eyelids in dream to words’ rhythmic linger,
phrases firing through nerves, longing to strike
each key with gentle force of needle through
cloth, scarred tips missing your smooth surfaces
lying beneath me, giving way now to
my slightest touch, patient as nuns’ faces
when I pause, awaiting delicate plunge
with each bold letter I press and impress
onto virtual paper. Shall we lunge
as one like minuscule lovers, both blessed
by the Muse’s flaming eyes urging our
shivering forms to honor her power?
Roger Armbrust
March 1, 2010
lost in air’s loneliness, reflexing like
eyelids in dream to words’ rhythmic linger,
phrases firing through nerves, longing to strike
each key with gentle force of needle through
cloth, scarred tips missing your smooth surfaces
lying beneath me, giving way now to
my slightest touch, patient as nuns’ faces
when I pause, awaiting delicate plunge
with each bold letter I press and impress
onto virtual paper. Shall we lunge
as one like minuscule lovers, both blessed
by the Muse’s flaming eyes urging our
shivering forms to honor her power?
Roger Armbrust
March 1, 2010
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