poem of the day 02.18.09

metamorphosis

i don’t like to think
of you seeing me
like this
stooped over a commode
filled with bile
and morning tea.
it isn’t right.
i don’t feel like a man
thinking of you
seeing me like this.
like a victim.
six scotches last night
two bottles of cheap red
the night before
valentine’s day
four scotches
two dark beers
a carafe of red
and then a bottle at home
before we made love
and fell asleep.
and then these two days of terror
or burning stomach
and a burning asshole
stomach cancer?
pancreatitis?
a fluttering heart
food passing through half eaten
my mind runs the gamut
me on the bathroom floor
6 a.m.
with tears and sweat
and declarations that i’ll stop drinking
when i should be writing poems
and worried the next time this happens
i’ll be spitting up blood
from a ripped and dying stomach.
what a life i’m leading?
what wasted promise?
i’m not longer a man like this
falling here, you can’t see a man.
no, i’m suddenly something else
a beast, unnamable
something forever changed.