For Charles B./revised

For Charles B.



Chunks of ice clink inside his glass
as he pours another whiskey,
when you're only half-drunk
you don't pay much attention to sounds
you've heard a million times before

you don't look to where you've been
you are lost, so very lost in a state of supreme
sobriety, its hard-edged truth
your heart still begging to be free,
"See", he says, "life is a letter you're afraid to open
and love is a dog from hell."
though he has pinned her soul
a thousand times before
his hands still shaking,
grapple with her memory,

he's worn out
every spring in his bed,
his clothes are stained and rumpled
though his shadow hangs quite neatly
on a closet
door
the only thing suspiciously
right where it belongs,
he waits
patiently
for oblivion to enter
our pristine privacy,

I read his brutish poems
survey my god-damned aloneness
we both walk close enough
where time and distance have no meaning
tongues afire, drunk with God.