brian m. carlson brian m. carlson Poetry version 2 of the GNU General Public License the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License

You pause, think of Vodka
and Reb, the ties of sick addiction to other
and self, wanting peace from footballs chucked
at heads, from being locked in small metal cages,
from constant poundings.

You breathe, blink, ask yourself about your best
friend, the one you drink beer and talk away
the afternoon with.

You are jealous that he is not your anchor,
the one you go to with your problems, the
one you destroy (yourself) with.  You miss
him: he sucks the life from you to feed you both; you need
him: he has no regrets; you drive
him: from word into action, from thought into deed.

You crave the thick redness as it
washes over your tongue, let music flow
through your eyeballs as they burn hot
and cold together, sip irritation steeped
into anger.  It wants you to intoxicate
yourself, never apologizing.

You breathe, steel yourself for another day
you must somehow survive.  You wonder
what you will do tomorrow.