Ninety-two days, since my last drink.
The first week I was stranded.
Lost in a desert, parched.

The coldest, freshest water was dust in my mouth.
I couldn't quench my thirst.
Nothing brought that refreshing sensation;
That overwhelming elation that my first beer had each day.

Whenever I took my first sip, I felt enlightened.
My soul beemed with joy.
Nothing else mattered after that first sip.
All the word was irrelevant compared to me and my drink.

And that was the problem.
It was all irrelevant.
Beer was my partner.
Scotch was my lover.
Brandy, my best friend.

And I, was an alcoholic.
I AM, an acoholic.
Ninety-two days into recovery.
Ninety-two days into the rest of my life.

Light and the sun it's from,
both burn my eyes in the morning.

As I wait for the day to pass,
I can't quite seem to grasp
the inevitable truths
of time slipping by.
Leaving me behind.
Leaving us all in dust.

God is the way sunlight bends through an empty shot glass,
throwing cascading fractures on the solemn bar top.
God is the skin I crawl in
and peel away by two layers at a time
above the ****-filled blisters left
by that same old sun
on happy afternoons.

God is a drunk
and doesn't give a ****
about what
I think he is.

An ocean on land, sprawling, rippling
in the invisible wind.
Let's roll down that hill again,
if we can.

Maybe if I write a poem about her
she'll finally listen.

(reads through own poems)

Oh, ****, nevermind...
                                                  ..­.I tried that already...

I stepped down into the creekbed
from atop the gravel path leading off into the woods.
and found myself at peace.

It was brief,
but for a moment I couldn't feel her presence
even though she was right behind me.

The shallow water slapped my ankles
and I stood fixing my pants as I scanned my new horizons,
noticing her clear reflection on the water.

Alas, as I turned to offer her a smile
I saw her look down and drop her hands,
putting her phone back into her pocket.

At the time I thought she was disinterested.
Just checking facebook.
Or texting her real friends.

Yet I was glorified whence I discovered she was just taking a picture.

Taking a picture of me.

Me standing in the water,
me scanning my horizons,
and me forgetting all about her.