1995-untitled

I write now like I used to drink,
turn words up like a bottle,
slam the shotglass down on the bar
like a curse word, shit or fuck,
whiskey or tequila, and all
in anger.

It's the same disease, brother,
the same function or dysfunction,
the same kind of disassociation,
like some sweet grenadine thing
that makes you puke that night
and have a headache the next day,

and I cannot scream,
though that is how I feel,
and I cannot cry, though the tears
wait on the rims of my lids,
I cannot eat because what I am
hungry for is not on the shelf at Safeway,

so I write like I used to drink,
throw back syntax like it was Wild Turkey,
mix metaphors and tenses like
vodka and vermouth,
tap whatever keg I can
to get it out of my body and
into the toilet,

I write like I used to drink,
like a madwoman who can't get a buzz,
like a sailor who's been out at sea too long,
like my heart is breaking,
because if I don't,

I might need a cocktail.