Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 13



QUEEN’S COUNTENANCE


I know the 7 P’s of preparation. I set the table for those I know. The unexpected arrive clothed in time and tradition. They seat themselves at the table with the naked. They become mute. We prattle and pose, rarely glimpsing the goals sitting at the unset seats. What we need to become is far from what we are. I can not even call it other. It is within when we make room and ether when we won’t. I can wait and try but the juice is deep with the pulp. I get myself in line for the future and wait for the clothes offered by my guests. I sit the emperor and rise the queen.


Hear the sweetness in your own voice; taste the salt in your own tears.
*

Madame Alexander


I am, too naïve;
if you show me kindness I will believe you,
follow you, obey you, so, I have rules.

These rules do not protect me,
but they do make a box for me to seal myself inside.
Where I will ship myself, stack myself, hide myself,
well, that I do not know.

I pull the flaps down
and pray not to have to make any real decisions.
I fold my arms and close my mind

Believing I could never adequately open it enough
to safely live in the world outside of this closet.
Here I sit wondering what to write on this label
in order to be left alone

All the while longing for true love
a thing never given to a quivering china doll
shut up in a carton at the bottom of a wardrobe.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 16

MAIL

I form my query, fold my mind and mail it off to God with a stamp of approval from my sponsor. The questions sent are of no great interest but the responses are a spellbinding group. What is returned unopened is a wide array. The circuitous route taken by some is a charm of elucidation. I rub my fingertip over the intact seals and marvel at the travels of the wax. I mourn over the defunked gods and their public relations organizations. Slow is my resolve to pore over the replies. I get easily caught in lackings and shy from true contact. The equations embedded in my heart read the letters and sing the notes; these songs are just for me. I know them like my name. I turn the envelope and see how old the postmark is.


Remember your comfort needs a life of its own.
*

Pearly Whites

Reaction is a separation, a polarization;
it cuts you from me and God from we.

Response is a connection, an inclusion;
threading a line from you to me
and stitching God into our pockets.

I realize now that any positive connection
is an instantaneous link to my Higher Power
and can’t help but bring us closer.

Tiny feet carry beauty and kindness;
tiny teeth tear the fabric of the world to bits.

I must let my footwork conduct my life’s work
and seal my lips and reserve the dentistry.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 17



ALL BETTER NOW


Mother kissed the booboo and I wait for the admonition to take effect. Waiting, I count the problems like telephone poles on a long journey. What will it be like, the world all better? The anticipation nearly breaks me for a while until waiting turns to disbelief. A chill fills the space and 'all better' becomes the cry. My sponsor calls for moderation and lowering my expectation. The child’s ears ring with the promise to be fulfilled. She can not give herself over to a world where a Band-Aid is not a cure-all but only a cover for the slow work of internal healing, scars and all. Sheer survival is not sufficient for the screaming toddler; heartbreak from injustice calls for more than endurance. But, alas, a kiss is all we have.


Time pulls the tide and the tide pulls you; let it.
*


Who Rang?


Examine the instillation of your buttons
as a process of discovery for disabling them.
Pay attention to the wiring but also to the hardware.

Sometimes the advertising is the thing
which keeps alive something better off put to rest.
Many things are rooted in other pots
and have a lifeline from outside of the current host.

All the connections and housing should be explored
as well as what work the mechanism does once pressed.
Is there a gong, tinkling bells?

Does it release the wolves from their den or tiger from his lair?
Information is a tool which never fails to help me
in disassembling the traps and their triggers
I must not shy from the gathering.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 22



SOOT


I diligently work to remove the soot, the residue from the last time I tried to hot wire my brain. When I attempted the short circuit of my safety-thinking, I caught my life on fire and the flames, though brief, were spectacular. Electric fires are very jarring, the burning insulation toxic. It leaves bare, stuttering lines crossing and recrossing. My stable base, the method I once used to keep sane, is shot. All because I wanted to go joy riding in my thoughts. Suspended reality sounds so good but always bursts into flame, leaving me with soot removal as a hobby.


Add all the numbers of your phone number.

*
The Delano’s


Indifference is the backbone of power.
It is a state of faithlessness,
not infidelity but rank apathy,
saving every ounce of ardor for the prize you seek.

I thought I was the prize and I am;
I’m just no longer yours.
Cast aside for the leviathan and the miscreants
I wonder what I could have done to hold your attention

The answer is nothing.
Nothing could be done.
Blinded by the ambition of heroism
the struggle is the goal

No gem no matter its brilliance
can check your drive toward a place in the epic narrative.
Tis the hero’s lament to save every life except your own.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 18



STRONG WORDS

Serious language, deep language, real language helps me by grounding me. I don’t have to be nice for company when I can just tell the truth. I needn’t have guests with virgin ears or unrealistic expectations, and I no longer pander to such foolishness. I know the layered meanings of my words and value the intensity of a large vocabulary. I am not intimidated by prudish co-conspirators who stare down pointed noses at powerful utterances. Weak words make poor boundaries and breed victims. I will not be trapped by niceties; I will speak clearly out of necessity.


Allow your integrity to increase the value of your truth.

*
Martinizing


The price of upkeep scares me, it daunts me even.
I pay the initial cost, I have bitten that bullet
of required outlay; the continued charges for maintenance
push my face in the mud until my ears clog.

Avoiding the need of perpetual responsibility
to things, relationships, life, doesn’t change the reality,
rather it embeds in my skin a slick denial and an indignant retort
to the drycleaners and shoe-shiners of the world.

Waste and want play tag inside a misunderstanding
of what is required of me; of what life requires in general.
I must make quietude, draw a map
and find my way to this psychic change;

Unfortunately all the little voices scream
“Yes, you paid the price to see the show,
but you don’t make enough to stay!”


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 21


CHOICE

Growth is my decision. I don’t need conflict or catastrophe to bring me to change. I choose each day come what may, to roll out the refuse. I am not tempted to leave it in to rot just because the sun is shining. Good days are good times to improve. How could integrity be retarded by joy? I am not punished into recovery. I will never accept a Higher Power who set up a system like that and I give wide berth to people who claim their Higher Power did. My bottom may have been an inducement to start but choice keeps me coming back.


Smile in the mirror and look into your eyes.


*
Balustrade

Just because you appeared from the dark
doesn’t make you a wizard.
Just because you make the world safe for mankind
doesn’t make you Hercules,
nor does your power and foresight make you his father.

Your resourcefulness and guile doesn’t make you Ulysses.
And just because you spend so much time
strapped upon that cross doesn’t make you,
well, we all know the rest of that refrain.

Human is what you are whether I see that in you or not.
Human is a blessing even if it feels to me a curse.
I need the superhuman strength you seem to offer
but I must live in the world of what is real.

I want to be stolen away to the safety of your lair
and not live on my feet and fight for my life.
I have to stop wishing to be your captive
and work harder at simply being your friend.

If I can let you down off your pedestal perhaps
I could then climb down off mine.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 24

CELEBRATIONS

“You wore a wrist corsage to the dump?”
“You said to celebrate every activity,” I retorted to my sponsor.
“Yes, by doing them with purpose. Not everything needs to be a production number. Sometimes just showing up is enough. Putting too much energy into preparation can leave you without resources. It’s okay to make an appearance, do the simple act and move on. That is a celebration in its own way. Don’t squander your vitality on the mundane. Do you know what I mean?” asks my sponsor.
“Don’t waste flowers on trash heaps?" I answer.
“Yes, and don’t wipe your bottom with poetry. I mention this in case you get any ideas.”


Put flower petals in your phone book


*
If Garfunkel Was Here

Speak of the dead and paint the living.
Paint them in a good light when you can
and into a corner when you have to.

Read the books of future generations
rather than acting as the arrogant,
who attempt to write these volumes.

Expunge nothing leave it all on view,
but move past it after taking in the implications.
Water flows under the bridge until it collapses
then it carries the bridge away.

So, speak of the dead don’t drown them,
paint the living don’t stain them,
look to the future don’t dictate to it
and let the water run.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 25



TROJAN PERSON


I feel confused by the difference between love and war. The intensity and rush are too much for my frazzled and betrayed emotions to sort out. I feel like a Trojan person. I have all these children holed up inside and they are waiting for peace and safety so they can come out and sleep. For a time I allowed them to leave for bathroom breaks, one at a time. This was not a workable solution. When these tykes would have a look around, they started to set fires and break hearts. Each child makes life a battleground, fights and claws her way across the living landscape. I must heal my insides from the center of my thoughts, not send fragments of me to blend with the unfamiliar and hostile world. Only when I can stand together with my mind and heart safe within my being will I see a way to make love on my own and leave war alone.


Shuffle your vocabulary.
*


ROUSs

Time passes, I clock it and count it
and use its passage to construct a defense
or accusation depending on my need.

I use the calendar to condemn you
because my feelings do not have sufficient leverage
for my mental calculations.

To prize disappointment from this scene
I watch the water-clock waiting for adequate drops
to lift the flood gate and free me
from your unfulfilled promise and my unrealized hope.

How long is too long to stand in a quagmire?
Why do I feel the need for permission
to leave the quicksand?



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 26

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days and I have trouble finding my way home to hope. Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk. Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail. I am lost. Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention. I wander deeper into a dismal wood. How can I chop my way free? Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance. I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky. Skepticism passes like storm clouds, I may feel the rain for a time; necessity reigns on both sides of every street but still I can crawl into my bed. Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.


Hop right after you put your foot down and you can skip most of your problems.



*
Estranged


After long years I have made my own acquaintance,
friendship is on a far distant shore.
I know who I am and can recognize myself
on the street or in a crowded room.

I have a legitimate sense of wariness
of the afore mentioned persona,
nothing too nasty, just a discomfort.

She is not someone I would bring home,
maybe not even share a meal with
but I can stand her, minus intimacy,
minus any deep empathy.

I feel an awkwardness in acknowledging her,
strange as this might sound.
She is no one to be ashamed of,
not a truly bad actor

Yet the reports say she doesn’t live up to her potential
and I have it on personal authority
that she actually surpasses it on most days
and keeps this a closely held confidence.

And there it is, I know her secrets
but I don’t keep her.
This is what makes me strange and her stranger.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 27


MEMORIAL DAY


Veteran of the addiction wars, I have scars but few medals. I don’t need a purple heart, mine is black and blue. I don’t keep trophies either, no empty bottles or old syringes. Hostages, I have released them, too. I found often they held me from what my life could be. I wear my defects and wave my flag. I am slowly learning to live in peacetime. The big battles have been won; it is up to me to stop replaying the scenes of engagement. Armistice is a beautiful thing; too bad there is no better way to get to it.


Write the dedication page for your life.
*


Queens: More than a Borough


My drama is bigger than yours.
My drama can kick your drama’s ass.
Well maybe not, but it sure is kicking mine.

Like a rain soaked grave, I stand in this muddy hole,
sides slick, unassailable and count the piles of tragedy ,
all the while knowing it will bury me
not facilitate a climb out.

I attempt to display the face of comedy
and yet the mask can not fool me, my true audience.
I think if I can keep it all up on stage I will be alright,

But then the point of theater is
that everything is carried away
in the minds of all who come and watch.

Silence doesn’t help either
for there is little worse than a bad mime
and doing it well just makes me Lillian Gish.

So, back to Bohemia for isn’t it all a rhapsody,
though it would all be so much better
if Freddy Mercury weren’t dead.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 28

NETWORKS

Testing my sponsor when I’m hurt is like probing for gas with a lit cigar in my mouth. If I can’t find a way to douse the cheroot before posing my questions it’s guaranteed I will get an explosive response. I need a network; they follow me with sand, snatch from me my burning pacifier and save me from sticking my smoldering end where it doesn’t belong. We all need a little excitement in our lives but I don’t have to become an incendiary device to fill that need. I forget that boring isn’t the same as death; it just feels that way. Some days, distance prevents disaster; a good support system carries me away to face it on another day.


Don’t be afraid to turn the kaleidoscope.

*
RAID !!!


So, you stepped into a hornets nest
and now how am I to respond?
Blame you, no, I don’t think so,

I mean you are the exterminator
and some stings are to be expected,
but this is far beyond even your honed ability
to anticipate wasps.

Cry, running from this ambush?
Again, I decline
I still want you after the war is over,
even if I can not fight by your side.

Protest, I try to refrain,
I never want to make your job harder
but I don’t want to leave the impression
I have no concern, so I walk the fine line.

Standing on the sidelines is harder than you think,
I am helpless and lonely,
not as exciting as your work
and no comfort from this distance.

I must hold my breath
while you provoke the bees.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 29



POWER


When power arrives, it comes complete with blindfold, mask and lullaby. I am blinded to what effect I have. Others cannot see me, only the unchanging masquerade covering my face. All my fears and apprehensions are soothed by the melody singing in my ear. I am possessed. The hard thump of the bottom reaching up to get me is my sole hope of release. I can’t reason my way back from a trip with power; the isolation is too far-reaching, my senses numbed, my thinking biased. Salvation as a cold smack is the jolt required. Fire takes fire; power takes the same.


Draw your own lines then color out of them.

*


Black & Dedication

The brand of equipment endorsed by my Higher Power
is built so that my hand is clasped inside
lest I feel alone or unaided.

A closed mouth and an open mind work very well
when I can manage either of them
and Step 10 works when I can’t.

I am usually the problem in my life
but I am always the solution.
Others may change and contribute;
I am the one and only one, responsible for my happiness.

Dropping blame from my vocabulary and adding responsibility,
learning to differentiate between what is mine and what is yours;
these tools are keys and they open worlds of possibility to me.

Also they shut out the demons of wrong thinking,
wrong acting and desperation, which used to plague me.
There are still greater tools I yearn for
but like everything I must be patient
and build my muscles to handle the heavier machinery.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 30



FROZEN STRAWBERRIES


“I have them in the freezer,” I tell my sponsor.
“I’m sure you do. When are you going to take them out and reenact spring?” her retort.
“I don’t want to take them out before I’m ready. I don’t want them to go to waste.”
“Oh, the Excuse Maker, the Staller. Are you going to drag all the old chestnuts out of the closet? I thought you were going to defrost strawberries.”
“Fear, you’re saying fear of strawberries is not a sign of stability?" I ask her.
“Eat the strawberries or not, but it seems to me you didn’t get sober to avoid the sweeter things in life, keeping all your goodness locked up in the deep freeze destined for frost bite.”


Let sunshine climb in your eyes and fall upon your heart.


*
I’m not Brian


I thought life was based on a system of
‘I will suffer and that will exempt you’.
Then I would be horrified when you suffered,
after I had already done so ahead of you.

In an attempt to ease my dismay I would look to see
who had broken the pact, you or me.
Had I not endured sufficiently to protect you?
Had you left the safety of the umbrella of sanctuary?

Panic gives birth to blame
and blame of course births nasty biting things
that run loose and bury in all the tender spots.

Now the goals I tend are to end the breeding
of those sharp and painful beasties,
stop laying my neck upon the alter
and start telling better jokes.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 31



SPACE


I stand behind the podium and talk about the event horizon, which brought me into these rooms. My audience: other unwitting astronauts whose lives, like mine, were deconstructed by the Black Hole of addiction. Though the time and place may be different, the physics of compulsion and allergy are precise and repetitive. Nodding heads affirm my calculations to be accurate with the vectors and trajectories of their own experience. I conclude, with the gratitude of a reassembled life, and pray, with gravity, for my feet to stay on the ground.


Toast your bread with satisfaction.
*





The Attention Tax


Paying attention is the price exacted for living in this society.
A taxation which is like a leach;
it takes the life force, diverts my brain waves,
claims the water rights to my river of thought.

What is left I use to wash off what I can,
never quite managing to feel clean or clear.
I sit in the mud puddle
still unsure if I understand what just happened;
harboring a dark fear of the wave to come.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 1

SEASONAL EXPECTATIONS

If I am out of sync with the way the world turns, I can be nothing but disappointed. I arrive with ice skates on the hottest summer day and grieve the loss of spring. I shiver in my sandals and ponder the need for a windshield scraper, the autumn leaves so long past. I must orchestrate my moods and movements with the evolution and revolution about me. I will learn to sing with the doves in the morning and the coyotes, come the moon. I can spin with the stars. I can grow with the grass. I don’t need to counter- balance life. If I learn to bend with the tides, it all comes around again.


If moles can make hills you can move mountains

*
Soul Chiggers


If you can seed apprehension deeply in a generation,
you can reap disillusionment for a hundred years.
Bent foresight twists hindsight.

Admiring ignorance, signs death’s warrant.
Evil splintered to a thousand slivers
burrows under the skin without killing their host.

Death delayed spreads destruction along with melancholy;
a septic contagion if ever there was one.
How do we fight this systemic blight?

It is embedded in the water,
the air, the mind, and try what I might;
I can’t seem to live without any of these.

Chiggers of the soul feed and breed
no matter how I scratch and chew.
I am raw, but still infested.

How do I kill what is in me
without killing the me?

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 2

MYTHIC ADULT


My mythic adult is seen by the crowds around me; never is the charade exposed. Close inspection has been suspended so we can keep each other’s secrets. Circulating through the crowd, these children are impoverished from carrying this load of pretense. Dropping this burden is a risk far too great. Exposure invites attack. Stand tall; act brave. Unreasonable expectations are the water that moves the wheel, the power that generates this ongoing play. Hamlet is dead, yet I reprise the part daily. Daily I watch my fellows do the same. I mimic a ghost I never knew in life. Did it ever live? Or is it only a mythic adult?


Plant some things for their flower and others for their fruit.
*

Head Wringing

I have my say, though my fear is
that I constantly repeat myself;
very much the way a crow calls the same thing endlessly,
but it all has different meanings to the crow.

I would offer code keys to my readers
if I could lay my hands on one.
My mind whispers that the soothing
people get from my work is like the calm
induced by chanting monks.

Possibly it is more the actor’s trick of reading repetitive lines
each time putting the emphasis on a different word;
a way of squeezing all the juice from nonsense.

I jot ideas swearing these lines are to be found somewhere
in my previous work, perhaps whole pages are redundant.
Finally I stop this fight reminding myself I have but one voice
and what I accuse myself of as similarity might merely be my style.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 3

NO GOLD STARS

I look at my chart, then my chest; there are no gold stars. I long for the affirmation of my great and seemingly endless struggle. I watch the movements of those with shiny shoes and hope to be awarded with the gummed insignia. When I hang by a thread, I desire the corroboration of foil cutouts to assure me I have done right; I have stayed alive. Punishment I fear less than lack of consolation. But, no one truly knows my bravery and if I want these paper emblems, I can just go and buy my own.

Count unhatched chickens but don’t place them on the menu.


*
The Hope Diamond

My guess is
the same god that wants me stupid
also wants me to suffer.
I ask myself what could be all powerful about that?

I wonder is God like a friend or a lover?
I carefully chose my friends
whereas my lover found me
against my greatest plans and well thought rules.

And if this is to be like marriage,
may I file for divorce if things go astray?
Or am I stuck with this match,
like I am stuck with my deformed ear
there underneath hat or fringe of hair?

I never thought of my relationship with God
like a necklace I could take on and off at will,
though the more I study it seems this beautiful thing
enhances my beauty if all is right
and will strangle me if it gets hung up.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 4



FREQUENTLY


When my daydream gets so threadbare I no longer use it, I must turn to other sources. When I cannot conjure on my own and elucidation makes me cross eyed, I must turn to HP. I have puttered and prolonged the way to naming this legendary and fabulous enigma. I drew out even longer any desire for close association with the same. I have milled with the millstone and surfed in the whirlpool, dragged my feet and thrown a fit, but this only stalled the inevitable result. Naming and interaction is the need and now is the time. I have a Higher Power and I choose to call it Frequently.



Dreams grow wings if you let them.
*



Eggshells and Bethlehem

A stable is a place to keep a horse
and in fairytales a place to birth a baby,
but stable is the story I told myself about you.

Solid, a model of strength
and here you are a tripod,
upright only if the pressure is evenly applied.

I blame myself for lopsided need
and try to find a way to keep this coupling standing.
Stripped down to minor contact
I wonder if you actually remember me
and then I wonder if I remember myself.

This is what is at stake, this is the trophy I lose
when I fall for you and you fall down.
Where is the girl I worked so hard to create?

Broken eggshells litter the nest
and I look for the chick I used to be.
I fear losing you,
I cry at the thought of losing us,
I die at the loss of me.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 5

DOLL

“Why is your face all red?” asked my sponsor.
“I didn’t get my way,” I responded.
“And this crimson appearance is the result?”
“You see that it is. I was very careful about what I wanted and worked hard to be reasonable.”
“And Baby, you were. You did nothing wrong. Your ego was in check and you kept your expectations in proportion.” said my sponsor.
“Then why didn’t it work out my way?”
“I only have a sad and simple answer for you. The result had nothing to do with you, your wants, expectations or desires. The whole experience boils down to only one thing: It was not that type of party, Doll.”
“Oh.”



Promise yourself tears like rain and smiles like sunshine.

*




Discussions with my Disease


“You’re not the girl I used to know.”
“Not the girl you used to love is what you mean?”

“You’re different is all I mean to say.”
“The rest you leave there to rot, unsaid?”

“Something has happened to you.”
“Is it something that you do not like?”

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”
“Or is it that you never knew?”

“One false move could break us up.”
“All your moves are false
why will one more cause such change?”



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 6


THE ONE I BOUGHT

There are fairy tales I never gave credence to. Multiple bear stories don’t move me. Cats with footwear have not warranted a second thought. True love-----now that one I still buy hook, line and sinker. Work hard and true love will fix the rest; that is what I have always believed. The evil spell I have walked under during my sad little life will be broken only by the durable and all-fulfilling love of my betrothed. Each time this plan fell through, the blame was leveled at the wrongness of the match but not the wrongness of the plot. Anytime I work to be restored to sanity by one person, I have displaced a rightful power and thrown myself to the sea.


Let a whisker width of optimism carry your day.

*

Enclosed Space


In the echo chamber it is the cymbals
which cause the most pain.
The drums resound, deep and loud,
but it is the crashing of brass that drives me wild.

Cotton, wool and sealing wax
cannot put my head at ease.
Resonate walls with their hollow effects
create the feedback loops of hurt.

Like the endless reflection of parallel mirrors
the sounds come back to me with relentless repetition.
Aural illusion might have been the idea,
but chaos is the result.

Leaving the space between these ears
will be, will allow, the band to play on
without the benefit of my torment.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault