Brett Rogers


Quiet Nights At Home/Morning Doses - Poem by Brett Rogers

[Eyes closed …
I am trying everything
To get wasted.
Shhh!
No one knows …]

Spring
I have only just exited the neck,
Glimpsing for the first
The fatty back mile,
And I am already
Sick, sick, sick
With the junkie me.

Forty ounces (x 2)
Of freedom
Rescued
From the corner gas station,
Whimsically.
Forty days of rain or desert,
Forty days of no soda or sweets
(Save those special treats) ,
Forty ounces,
An American jaunt
On this noble colt
To a better haunt.
Double malt,
Double malt,
Double malt fun.
If I had a gun …

Summer
I cannot believe my taste! :
Pabst Blue Ribbon,
8 bucks for 18,
And Parliament cigarettes,
With their sophisticatedly
Recessed filter
(For a quick sniff) ,
Flavor just the same,
No matter
The black alley
Or bright street …

I can close my eyes
And,
Sadly,
Remember so much:
If that was there,
Then I am here.
And,
Where was she,
Or he,
Or them?
Open again,
And here
I am.
I see a drunken brawl:
Nostalgia vs.
Things to come …
The past
Will always win.

Fall
Watch me:
I squeeze bath tub vodka
(Wisconsin porcelain)
Onto
Cold, cold ice
And a silvery, smooth spoon,
Mixed with
stain-crafting punch …

Watch:
I squeeze bath tub vodka
(Russian steel)
Onto
Half-melted ice
And a silvery, smooth spoon,
Fixed with
stain-churning punch …

Winter
All of a sudden!
I can see all:
My temple
Begs
For intimacy.

* * *

This (the rhymes and such)
Would not be possible
Without the guidance
Of blues and whites,
Pinks and greens;
An eraser-head stigmata
In my cold-sweat palm.

Doctor’s orders.
I can
But will not
Disobey:
“You are so sour.
But,
Thank you,
Just the same.
You are daily Jesus’s.”

An upper,
A downer,
And some capsuled mold
(For those external evils) ,
My skin crawls.

The wonderful scientists of the world
Mercifully
Shake to death
My power-off button.

Wanna do
A jumping-jack contest? !

I shadow box!
Usually
Then
Though
My heart skips a beat …
And a beat …
And I have to breathe
And …
Finally,
Black, fun-less sleep.

The me inside
Is attempting a leap
Out.
A fetus
With no uterus.

Jump!
Tear!

I can see all:

For my days

On and on
The fire smothers our face,
And Time keeps watch
To see if we cry out the smoke,
Despite …

Topic(s) of this poem: addiction, alcohol, drinking, suicide


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Poem Submitted: Friday, March 13, 2015



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