She Calls in the Morning

She Calls in the Morning

In the end, at the bottom,

the wreckage was clear;

she was a puddle on the floor,

and I stumbled out the door.

She used to call in the morning

seeking her daily diversion and I,

lonely and filled with doubt, answered,

beginning my daily digression.

“Let’s meet for breakfast” was met

with “I can’t, I have to work today”.

She had a way of removing my resolve,

with a seductive longing in her voice.

I may never understand her true motive,

but she knew my true weakness.

I wanted to taste her on my lips

and feel her warmth deep inside.

Logic and will were always inadequate

against the sway she held over me.

In time, like all bad relationships, my drunk dials

started going to voicemail as she became aloof.

Increasingly less willing to satiate my need. One night 

she left me, a broken shell, in a pool of tears…

…but she called in the morning.

SMG

Absolution

Absolution

The cap breaks

to the left and spins

loose on the table

like a drunken top.

Is the rush in the ritual

or in the result?

Three cubes,

no more, no less,

dropped one at a time

with bombardier

precision from above.

There follows the muted

plock-plock-plock

as the amber liquid

escapes the bottle,

and the pressure pop

of the ice as it welcomes

the whiskey.

Pavlov is affirmed

as the scent of Speyside

malt and smoke fills the senses

and light dances and refracts

through the diamonds

and gold in the glass.

The familiar bite

against the lips wakes me,

and I emerge like a penitent man

from the confessional,

absolved and ready

to sin again.  

SMG

Drinking

Drinking

At one point I thought
I could drink myself into oblivion,
kill myself one shot at a time.

Whiskey was the journey,
intoxication the destination.
Alcohol, like blood
coursed through my pain,
fed it, nurtured it, an orphan child
held by a dispassionate nun.

I learned to live with the knowledge

that pain, like death, was inevitable
well beyond my control only to be

quelled, never cured.

Drunkenness however
was completely in my control.
A roaring lion on a leash,
a raging fire safely
warming my house of straw.

SMG

From "Another Hotel Room"