Am I less than forget? Am I fear? Am I bread, unbuttered and dropped on some psychiatric floor? Am I manners? Mannerisms? Is this all that is left when the alcohol is taken out? Omitted. Dignity omitted. None or one or three hot meals and a cot.
Dignity, that ugly shoe. Is that the only thing left hanging over my head like a hangman's noose? Stolen, lost, broken. In too many hospitals that have names and some that don't or didn't or can't or won't. Memories burned. The old memory gone. Asleep or awake, it's the same disaster. Visionary, double-visionary, disaster.
Crippled by alcohol. I am crippled.
No monologue, no dialogue. Dead, but not dead....
from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Chapter 59)
No comments:
Post a Comment