Monday, August 1, 2016

poem of the day 08.01.16

if i remember

if i remember
what book it was that i was reading
that can symbolize a good night
or what movie
what tv show my wife and i were binge watching
call it a success
then it means the drink
hasn’t gotten to me too much
a rabbit hole i have yet to fall down completely
although i’m always dangling over
that soused ring of hell
if i remember
what we had for dinner
that the door is locked
the oven off and the windows closed
the goddamned lights off
then i can rest easy in bed
with the scent of vodka and wine
lulling me to sleep
subtly underneath the mint of toothpaste
if i remember
what it was i was thinking about
proust or maybe a nude actress
music my wife and i were obsessing over
if we fed the cat
gave her the meds that she needs
to keep her alive and crying and shitting on the floor
and slipping us slowly into madness
then i’m solid
no rehab ala amy winehouse for me
no intervention with the folks and old friends
just another round on the house
if i remember that we did not fight
that peace has reigned
or if i can recall the argument
point by point by illogical point that i made
then it’s all good in the hood over here
if i remember
that i didn’t not shout out the window at neighbors
at people sitting in cars texting and blasting bass
that there is art in this world
away from all the bloodshed and strife
and noise and disease
the violent malaise this country
is perpetually caught under
that there is beauty
that i have yet to discover
what does it matter
if i lay bleary in the dark after doing the damage
eyes wide open and booze-soaked
my wife asleep on my chest
me trying to make out the figures
of inanimate objects in our room
like celestial bodies
hiding beneath the pink night of city skies
if i remember
that i am human
that i will die soon
that everything in this world that i truly care about
will one day turn to dust
or just be gone
then what is there to fear?
hangovers and jobs?
thermonuclear explosions in the sky?
surely not this blank page staring back at me
6:10 in the morning
waiting to be filled with words
that are harder to find the more i age
that i have stuck somewhere in my back pages
blocked back like a clogged sink
if only i remember
what they are.


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