Drunkenness

When compared to the frothy taste

of the wet morning air,

the intoxication of alcohol

seems a lifeless passion.

To me, there is only ever one option:

to be numbed or to be ravished,

and that is why I drink from the

cup of the nighttime sky,

so that I may pass out in the

arms of heaven,

and wake at dawn

with a light in my soul.

There are all kinds of ways to be drunk,

but I prefer to be drunk on time,

driven half-insane by my desire

to beat the clock in our race

towards oblivion.

I have been unashamedly wasted

on the shore of the ocean,

drinking in the sea like a fine liquor,

and I have walked, a true alcoholic,

along the edges of life, staggering

my way to the future with a bottle

of poetry in hand.

And it is that kind of drunkenness

that I could happily die of,

a heart perched on the branch of my addiction,

jumping into eternity through the bliss

of my sweet insobriety.

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12 thoughts on “Drunkenness

  1. Natalie, these lines:
    “…and I have walked, a true alcoholic,
    along the edges of life, staggering
    my way to the future with a bottle
    of poetry in hand.”

    Really strong stuff! Love it. And what is poetry for if not for crossing lines?

    1. Thank you Marya! I must say, I enjoyed writing this one 😉

      And oh, I agree – the day poets stop breaking down boundaries, I will truly fear for the world.

        1. Excellent – I will definitely be checking these out! “The Life of Poetry” will be my next read; I’ve been looking for a book like that 😉 Thanks!

Thoughts? I love those.

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