Friends of Bill W.

[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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 7



HOSTAGE DOLL


A doll stands wedged between two mailboxes, naked and exposed, the edge of the road passing her by. She is there to pay for my self-loathing. I throw my treasures in the air as skeet to be shot and shattered. Hate is the obnoxious microbe, which sours my digestion and rids me of nutrition and affection. I purge love and tenderness. I rip the covers from my playthings and leave them to bleed. I hide in my self-destruction. I put garish displays street-side and cry my tears alone. I can not ransom innocence to pay the price of fear. I must bring in the broken babies and put hate out on the curb.


Tickle wit with realism.
*

Weight Problem


I have trouble raising my 50 pound hand in meetings.
In between meetings I have the problem
of trying to dial the 500 pound phone.

Which leaves me with this 2,000 pound weight
on my chest and no air to breathe, no life to lead.
There is the difficulty of the relentless tyrant,
my would be sponsor, the person I fail to ask.

Plus the home group that does not support me,
since they do not know my name.
All the while folks laugh and talk and have a good time,
I can see none of them have suffered from my weight problem



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 8



THREE ROOSTERS


The three roosters come to the meeting to hear themselves crow. The membership purely spectators in the longest, lowest, loudest sobriety competition. Those of us in the fray are like picked-on-puppies who learn slowly not to put our heads up to spare our eyes and hearts. The same noise comes repeatedly. Suspicion is never aroused; the heads nod at all the right places, orchestrated for ego and nothing else. The meeting is closed with a momentary prayer for the still suffering in and out of the room. I pray that will be enough.


Tour your past but leave at closing time.

*

Abraxas



I was waiting for a magic person
and then you appeared.
I was dazzled;
I was under your spell.

In an attempt to prove myself
your natural assistant I sawed me in two.
Then I stepped into the vanishing cabinet
and promptly disappeared.

I was not wrong to see the miraculous in you,
but I never looked from your visage once you arrived.
The world around me melted at your entrance
and I flowed down the drain along with it.

I somehow expected a response from you,
but why respond to an empty room?
So, I will plug back into myself and power up.

Power draws power
and I will see if I can draw you once again.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 9



GULPING


The plug that lodges in my throat from too much, too fast, causes the anxiety to rise in me. The panic fulls my contracting muscles into rock solid revolt. 'I can’t live' is the predictable result. Gulping attention, acclaim, excitement, sex does the same thing. My heart clots and my personality stops in mid flow. Everything, in carefully chosen well-chewed bites, makes the process proceed. My life works along workable paths if I stay away from oversized freight. I can never swallow myself whole; why would I keep trying to imbibe giants like desire?


Tumble your heart like a stone then warm it.


*

Prize Catch



There is a reason that fish flap and twist
when they are caught,
why even though they are in the air
they fight for the life that once was theirs

Only martyrs go without a fight,
it is good to know that at least this vice is not mine.
When I did not love my life its loss was not an actual change,
there was nothing to hold onto, nothing to struggle for.

Now I thrash at the feel of my loved life slipping from me.
It is good to know I have passion enough to rally a defense.
My life can be taken from me, but I haven’t lost my will to fight.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 13

OPEN WINDOWS



I roll down the window in the rain hoping reality will soak in with the droplets. I tilt up my face as I leave the car and let the water shower my features. The downpour is the jolt to living for which I have prayed. I stand on my lawn and rinse the day out of my hair; I clear my brain in the fresh rainwater. The driving rain pounds the house and trees but I feel massaged and cared for. My skin, reflexive, teaches my mind to absorb and hydrate. I turn my thoughts to Greater Powers. Even if the doors have been closed, I can open the windows and let the rain come in.


Soap the windows on some of your ideas so you can work in privacy.
*


Down to the Watership


The immoderate champions immoderation;
the glutton recommends consumption,
more often than not a drunk will pour you a drink

It is part of the social norm to conform
to the addiction of the day.
If we are all high we laugh at each other’s jokes
and there is less finger pointing about the mess.

When we are all in this together we sink or we swim,
but we mustn’t look around.
Like the rabbits who cannot ask, “Where?”

We try to look at ease with dying
and contented with our lot.
More must be better
for we can’t survive on less than what we’ve got.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 16

THE BEAR

Living with my disease is like having a sleeping bear in the house. I knew it was there, could hear it snore. I never felt comfortable or able to turn my back on it and get on with my life. I felt under certain threat. Fearing the bear would wake when my attention was elsewhere, I proceeded to poke my sleeping bear with a stick. I prodded it to wakefulness; in retrospect, it is clear I was unprepared for a wakeful bear, even with my full attention fixed on this brute. The bear, which is my disease, roamed about the house and made forays out into the world. I had no plan or tool for these events. Finding a legion of people who had worked out living arrangements with their bears, I happily joined their ranks. My bear wakes and sleeps at its will but I am no longer afraid or unskilled at handling this creature. Today I am so grateful for the bear in my life and would never want a life without it. I live in a world filled with bears and would be at a loss as to how to exist if not for the practice and success with the bear that is my own.


Draw a picture of time.
*

Limen


Do you leave when it is time to go
or are you the type who exits early?
Does departure time find you lingering
trying to squeeze out one more minute
rooted in this spot?

Are you the kind of person who loves the street,
but avoids the parade?
Can you bear to go, bear to stay,
bear to think that the world exists beyond this door?

Do you move with the other sheep
when all the crowd says, “Baa.”
Are you fleet with a sky full of clouds obeying the breeze,
flaunting the tides?

Do you change with the seasons
or are you passed from hand to hand,
living your life in the snow of a globe?

My life is my life,
but the most vital evidence of how I live it
is what I do on thresholds.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 17


BOUQUET

I love the flowers in my garden. Their upkeep is my solemn trust. With my shears, I must cut, clear and swift, the runners that detract from their health and structure. When fruiting is heavy, I must spare the stalk and choose what stays and what needs to be taken. I am scrupulous in my observation of form and function. The bucolic scene thrives; the pageant of color sweeps the rows. I bend to nurture and stretch to prune. I pay over-much attention to the plucking and forget I need to bring the blooms home.


Allow a dark worldview to illuminate a lightness of spirit.
*


Tea Totaler


My alcoholism was anonymous
even while I was active.
My destruction was internal,
outside evidence kept to a minimum.

It is easy to understand why so many
from my past as well as my present
are shocked to see me a member
in good standing for a club they never saw
me pay the price to join.

But cost doesn’t always advertise in the public square.
I know the score, the numbers etched upon my soul.
I need to be well even if you didn’t know, I am sick.

I take the medicine;
offer a smile to those who think it prophylactic
and keep upon my path.

Just because you didn’t know the contents of my bottle
doesn’t mean I didn’t earn the tag on my tea.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 18



CLONING DAYS


The novelty of sobriety causing sweet days wore to gauze and I attempted control. I cut, pasted and sutured elements of good living in an effort to make 24 hours of personal perfection. I was so sure I could replicate these jewel like days. I would make perfect spheres, everything round and even, one after another like a string of pearls. The more I tried the harder God laughed. Days are their own planets; Saturn is different from Mars and today will have just as little to do with tomorrow if I let it all work out. Perfection is a thing, which is born to live, not a thing I can craft in a dish or a test tube. Life must will-out or chaos will prevail.



Take two words and make a seesaw in your mind.
*



Who is Who

Remake the bed for the restless child in you
who sleeps better if attention is paid to the small kindnesses.
Placating her saves you the sound of her plaintive cry.

If you teach yourself
or allow yourself to grow fond of her, this child you,
these simple chores will seem light, refreshing, natural.

If you fight her she will grow strong
and you will grow weak.
Don’t resist nature.
Don’t resist your nature.

Take a hug to share
as you would take an apple divided
on a walk in the woods with a companion.

Share emotional embraces,
let your thoughts surround her
when you make plans and do deals.

If you treat her as if she is the best of you,
you will become the best of her.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 19



THE LANDING


Risers and runners lift from where I stand. Here I make my decision. I climb and face the challenges of my life. Each new test returns me to this square; the steps ascend in every direction. No matter how many times I have scaled this set of twelve, I must start anew with even the slightest change of direction. Like facets on a diamond’s base, the flights emerge from the tiny base and hold the world of possibilities within their meticulous surface. I look into these precious mirrors to see who I am and where to go, though none of this would be possible without a place to stand.



Chart the constellation of your features.

*

In the Beginning is the End

I wonder if the road would show the reflection
of its end would I walk down it still.
I always decide that I wouldn't want to miss anything,
not even the most painful things,
yet this may simply be a flaw in my upbringing.
An overvaluing of survival.

What of you?
If the knowledge of beginning and end
were within your grasp would you begin?
Would you flee the end?
This end or every end?

Or is it the beginning that you fear?
And why not, for doesn’t every beginning
hold within it every end?

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 20

THE PALMIST


Last night I had a silly dream. I was in a tent at a carnival and the woman across the table held my hand so dear, looked into my eyes and said, “Today you will go to a meeting that will save your life.” I thanked her and left full of anticipation. When I awoke, I was filled with the same strong sensation. I rose, washed and left for the meeting with anticipation. I paid close attention to the coffee maker, those setting up chairs with me, and the newcomer. I listened carefully to the speakers and the sound of the group’s voice closing in prayer. Nothing out of the ordinary happened… other than my realization that every meeting saves my life.


Believe in contradiction.

*
Notice

I put myself on the auction block
and wait to see how high a rate
I will have to pay to become slave to my illusions.

I have worked so ardently to free myself
from past enslavements and here I stand naked on this block,
selling myself and hoping I will fetch a price.

Poisonous pedagogy is atomized, contained in every breath,
I don’t know how to live apart from it
and thus I stand waiting to be bought.

It no longer matters how I got up here the first time
for who cares that slaves enslave.
All that matters is that there seems no safe way off this block
or out of this web, or down this street;

The world seems a bad neighborhood everywhere I turn.
Yet I must admit that standing here affords a view
I would not have if I were buying.

If I am a slave I can have hope of someday being free,
if I am a owner what hope might there be?



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 21



FABULOUS


“I don’t care what else is on the inventory. You still have to take responsibility for fabulous,” said my sponsor with a determined look on her face.
“But you don’t understand. The other things on the list make it impossible for me to be fabulous. You just can’t see how incapable I truly am,” I say as I collapse into a pathetic heap in the overstuffed chair.
“What you don’t comprehend is that fabulous is not affected by your other little grumbling. You can’t tarnish fabulous; it doesn’t wear away with burden or neglect. This is why no matter how far you bury it, or misname it, or even flatly deny it, fabulous shines like a beacon and you end up with every Todd, Nick and Martha on your doorstep expecting you to be who you are and let them warm in the glow. So, my cherub, you can fight it or live with it, but fabulous is here to stay.”
And this ladies and gentlemen is how my sponsor wins all the arguments.



Pour a rainbow into your dreams.
*



Do Not Enter

Putting all the mess
securely behind that door is no protection.
If the keys are changed will I be able to open it?

If the locks retumbled will I crack the combination?
Like a demon sealed within a womb
emergence is inevitable either upon this mortal plain
or cellularly encoded and reborn at a later date.

Prison is what holds captive the innocent,
evil is always at liberty.
Walling off my parts and pieces
severs limbs and destroys thinking.

Loads of cheesecloth is what I need; filter and refilter,
catching all debris. Putting the toxic things
to better use and making myself free.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 22


INVENTORY

“When you say ‘self’ who ever do you mean?” asked my sponsor. “Do you mean the lovely velvet child or the facade you built to show others?”
“Well, I wish I could answer you, I do,” my reply.
“I see the shrine you construct in your sobriety. I love that you made it. When you talk about ridding yourself of ‘self’ I doubt you mean this edifice. Do you speak of some creature in the past? Do you know of whom you speak? Are you parroting then assuming this thing exists solely for you to now dispose of it?”
“I thought ‘self’ was self-evident,” I feebly interject.
“I want names and locations. If you only suspect some of these entities please provide me with a full accounting of your suspicions. I also want, to the best of your ability, the origin of these individuals. I am unwilling to cosign their disposal without a proper bookkeeping. I see by the bright look on your face I have made myself clear,” she said with conviction.
“So, this is what you meant by self inventory,” I say and sigh.


Draw a maze of exit from a dilemma.
*


The Tide in Texas

I cannot tell you of my pain,
how the liars took me off my land,
how my heart lay shattered all around,
how I’m so foolish and left in town.

I cannot show you the big red ball,
which to me is a shame
or how it bobs and sways or how the tail of it hangs
out of reach and taunts me all the day.

But growing up to face the facts
and finding my strong legs
has put me to another tact
and sucks the mud away.

Sharing my disappointment and my grief
is like adding ballast to the boats.
It lifts us all instead of sinking me.
Not much of a price to pay.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 23

TOO FAR, TOO FAST


Balloons filled with hydrogen race the atmosphere and fly away. The effect is stunning, so much lift for just pennies. The easy way has no line, no waiting; fast dirty service is available. Risk assessment is counter-balanced with dramatic outcome, low initial cost and instant gratification. How can I not want to rise above the crowd? How can I not want it now? Hydrogen is quick and plentiful, volatile yes, but why should this bother me? I have a Higher Power to protect me. It’s not as if I were playing with fire. I am only tempting it.


Tell the tale of your life from the perspective of your thumb

*
For Want of Frith


I feel like I am standing on a trap door,
every flex in my footing triggers insecurity.
With my arms spread wide,
I think the wiser move might be
to hold them to my sides.

For if the little square did give way
my arms might be sheared off
with no time served for the tears I’ve cried
or the blood now shed sprinkled on the earth.

Step from this I tell myself
and do not make delay
for all the ground is not a trap
nor all the world a stage.

But is it not the trade in pain
that sticks me to this spot
and keeps me here for all my life
just waiting for the drop.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 24



WATER BABIES

Timeless babies bobble in their underwater positions. Voiceless cherubs bounce and wink the river of their wisdom streams to my feeble mind. The noise of silence wrinkles and tinkles as the waves crash soundlessly above. My head fills; I must surface but beg not to lose my connection when I break the tension of top-side sobriety; I turn these angels to screened-off faithfuls. I owe all I have to these aquatic infants. Every hope, all my fear is held to test in the face of swimming heroines and their embryonic grave.


Read a poem to a plant.


*
Living as a Megaphone


He whispers in my ear,
I part my lips and let it all run out.
Vacant tube of a thing,
his words pour through me
nothing to stem the flow,
He hides behind me, the bully that he is.

I stand with rings painted bright concentric, bold.
I am nothing;
I know it
and don’t need him to tell me,

My inactions speak louder than his words.
He is not the one who bore right through my core;
he is just the little worm who is living there secure.
I will have to purge him out to be his megaphone no more.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 10



DANCE OF DEATH


Honeyed words pour from painted lips; shades of doubt color my mind. Stained glass eyes look to blank walls and picture the gallery of imagination, attempting to sell it for hard currency. Sirens sing from the throats of mute men; the screams which rise in me fall on deaf ears. Paradox feeds controversy but it needn’t. Evolution from a cesspool is repugnant though progress is steadily made. Inertia is violent if that is from whence it came. Afterbirth is always bloody and humans not always nice. I must live and heal as others climb up and slide down. I must keep the beat and forget the dance of death.


Float your expectations and check for daggers underneath.

*

Dido
Either I can have a bad relationship that I never wanted
or no relationship and the painful isolation of having been lied to,
deceived by someone who, in theory, should have been trustworthy.
You are off to war and I am agape
not having realized until too late that you are a soldier.
The fact is that one of these things will occur;
you will be killed by a machine which cares nothing for you
and sees you as its enemy or destroyed by the organization
that sees you as its own.
Or you will throw yourself on your sword
and keep from bothering anyone else with this task.
There is no scenario where you are the One you promised me you’d be.
No homecoming, no welcoming arms to hold me.
I stand on the sidewalk,
a garbage pail of cold water poured over my shock and dismay.
To my grief you say that you have heard it all before,
so why did you set me up to say it all again?
I am heart stricken and cut in a place to obvious to hide
and too hidden to speak of.
You have no time to talk, no aid to give, no love to spare.
I thought I was yours, but see that I have been swept from your life
by the flood of a large gauge hose and water of questionable origin.
Everything is wet but nothing is clean.
This is an unholy act and I am defeated and living in Carthage

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 11


BOTTLE THE ACID


My sponsor said to bottle the acid and so I did. I sat back in smug reflection until the plumbing backed up. I grabbed the fast solution and poured it down the drain. My sponsor smiled as I learned the baser things will eat my life away, too. I can never just decant power and expect it to sweep clean the clogged pathways in my recovery. Sloshing caustic medicine into open orifices brought me here. I long for the ease of a liquid resolution. In the end, I must clean the pipes myself. The traps are simpler to cleanse the less I’ve lied. Telling myself I don’t have to get my hands or heart dirty is the biggest lie of all.


Eat lunch with relish.
*


Sanitized
All the water in the well, gone dry, belongs to me.
Such an offer, how could I refuse?
I stand as near the edge as I can get
and try my best to peer, is the goldfish alive?
For you see this is still my best hope,
you, the source are also my wishing well,
more than just survival you are prospect, neigh dream.

You say that what’s left is mine,
but you think of it as incidental, not a need, merely a want.
Someplace deep, beyond where you admit,
you know that life is dependent on desire,
but will play mine off as casual
when it becomes inconvenient to your drives and blindness.

Eunuchs do not immediately perish,
but you must confess they do not live.
I stand here a lock to which there is no longer a key
and whether I am open or closed it doesn’t matter
for the partnership of change is desecrated
and I do not care for a waterless solution.

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 12

THE WORM


Because there is never enough punishment for those who inflict hurt, I punish myself. Only I can tell if the depth of the pain is a match; only I can judge when enough is enough. This is the turn of the drunken worm who lives in my brain. The belief that what began in pain must end there, too. Even now in recovery, I persist in hurting myself a thousand tiny ways. setting trap after trap to catch the perpetrators, I make my heart a mine field, a place unfit for me to live. I must sober the worm and let myself off the hook.


Dip intentions into action and let them firm up.

*
Circular Needles

I react badly when I find a loose thread
because I never know what might be unraveling.
I have knit my heart out;
have dropped an occasional stitch to be sure.

Unbeknown to me these little holes in my logic
wait for the stress of overextension
to run through the length of my life, untying earnest work.

If I could catch these unsecured thoughts
before it all goes too far ,
I might have a chance to hook back into the main fabric
and prevent this unfurling of collateral.

When the cord is cut and the line flaps freely real panic ensues.
Even if capture of both ends is possible,
knots are awkward, unseemly and gauche.

I was planning a seamless life, smooth and beyond reproach.
My fear of reprisal flares
before the ever-burning coals of abject self-doubt
have a chance to be felt.

This banked inferno generates the things which bake and fry my nerves,
burn my threads and disintegrate my mantle.
I need to put out the fire before I re-knit my world.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

June 15



IN THE MEADOW


Being the only tree in the meadow often leaves me feeling lonely. I tell myself of the camaraderie I imagine in the forest. These images are more poetic than real. I believe in community and support; I think of the woods as this place apart from the complications of my exposed life. I shrug off the very real competition and struggle from sharing every inch of root space and the search for each square of sunlight. There is much joy in being an individual. An eco-system of diversity allows me to fully develop. I can spread my branches and my roots. I can offer shelter to those in need of my reaching and my shadow; tender flowers and tired birds find me a haven. I have unique abilities in this field. Space can feel lonely but it is full of possibilities.


Press up against your iron will.
*

Poe-etiquette


Cosmic questions cross the sky,
I wonder but don’t ask why
I pitch the tent, but don’t stay the night

I borrow money and don’t pay the rent
I sooth myself but can’t be content
I earn my keep though it is all been spent

The real true meanings are pushed away,
Has ready tragedy come to stay
Forever darkness, no more light of day
Cheerful greeting left to lay

All the poets bring their knives
For blood letting’s become their prize
Here I sit and tend the boat

Rocking dingy out to moor
I play the Raven, black and poor
I dare not speak it but in my mind sing
“Never more”

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