A joke was told,
With a sleight of hand —
Magic show wizardry

Chests flare like a puff of smoke
Exhaled from lungs that broke
With no discernible direction
And rainbow flags pour out of sleeves
As the maestro gives no certain directive.

Who do fools fool
When is one fool following the fool?

A wilted rose
Crumbled inside a sweaty velvet hat
Where a dead rabbit lies dormant

"Abba Cadaver!"

Silly little cottontail
Didn’t you read the advert?
Tricks are for kids!

This magician makes spirits disappear
Like a seance with his liver,
Voices speaking loudly
The ethanol cleanses sorrow from the proud
When he goes to bow to a one-man crowd.

Hold court with a disappearing act
One can see the card drop below the white glove
But ignorance is bliss, like cotton candy after a meal missed
And ******, I came to see a magic show!

A dove appears in the form of a crow
Painted white and dead as winter snow
Stiff upon the ground, he swears it’s flying.

Just another deluded drunk,
Down the pail, and dying.

the phosphorus beat of hearth and lap and love
of ambrosia made mother sung
the phosphorus beat of snug lure
and depth inviting

She wakes up every morning
with a frown on her face
as he stumbles from his bed
and into a chair that
he will never get out of-
there is tension in the air
as she downs another
exclaiming, "bottoms up"
when it makes her glass world
shatter
at the rise of a cup

All he can do is watch the pieces
as they become pronounced
while the shift of retreating cats
induces a pitter-patter
and more pictures fade out;
the happy memories
now stained
from her cigarette smoke
to ensure they'll die together,
yet somehow alone

He is cursed with a disease
that has rendered him pitiful
but alcohol doesn't care,
she drinks another swig,
becoming more cyclical
and deems the mans hindrance
as sinful

Stuttering, he can't escape
a liquid she's drowned him with
by pouring it into her own veins-
maybe it's better this way,
to watch the walls as they cave in

What else can he do
as he slowly degrades
from Parkinson's?

I awoke from the dream, slowly fading,
with only one image remaining:
As I fished, in a lake, on a boat,
police brought up a body
disfigured by bloat.
A man, with his features erased,
leaving an unrecognizable face.
But then I saw the tattoo…could it be..you?
Sodden and bloated from all of your drinking
your body, heavy,  slowly sinking,
until you descended to the bottom below.
The water is also the sum of my tears.
The dream a depiction
of my sorrows  and fears.
Awake, I know that you’re not dead.
But there’s an emptiness
in my heart and my head.

When drinking far too much and then some more
Expected downsides documented well
Rough ride in psyche, body, gut, and heart
Specific atrophy in frontal brain
Quick charm and nutty humour now all shell

These changes, bad alone, but all combined
Resulting rolling snowball to a curse
No more the looming risks are sharp perceived
No more a likely readiness to change
Slow-building damage cures cannot reverse...

The body
then the brain
then the readiness to change

In adding to the insults body-wise
Dear close relationships will suffer ill
And ringing loud the chant of "change yourself"
while far and getting further from the change
All options feel like holds against thin will

The heavy stigma punches surely down
More evidence for judging soul as dirt
Not worthy of the care or patient time
That social justice would dictate for all
No room for being tricky, lost, and hurt...

The stigma
then the hurt
then the treating you like dirt

And even those with training in support
Will waver, shifty, turn their gaze away
Unable to identify the soul
That suffer-trembles underneath the mask
The clowning chaos, drink-besmirched display

And carers left to weep and wonder why
Should care be so impossible to give
Your daughter damaged, injured in the fight
With drowned despair and stigma-staking rage
Sad, wounding warmth that shame will long outlive...

The weeping
then the care
then the shaming and despair

"We just can't help if you can't change yourself"
So in this caring, wounding, weeping storm
Just conjure up the readiness to change
Or cede to judgement, shifting gaze, and blame