Shatter

“…what the dreams forget,
the whiskey remembers…”
Eric Church – Creepin’

I stumble across
the shard littered floor,
retrieve the remaining
tumblers, take
another ignored
wound.

whiskey diluted blood
marks my steps,
crimson monuments
to drunken numbness
and indifference.

shot of brown liquor,
fiery fuel for penance
and rage.

chill on the neck,
peripheral phantasm,
turn and hurl the glass.

the ghosts dissipate
with each throw —
crystal hurtles through
empty space
to shatter against the wall —
only to materialize
again
each time I pour another.

a dull glow of morning
prowls outside,
fog muffles sound,
denies the dawn.

I tip up the bottle,
take the last swallow
and heave it through
the window
at the veiled
light.

Broken Window

Broken Window (Photo credit: autowitch)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shared at dVerse for Open Link Night

 

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22 Comments

Filed under Poetry

22 responses to “Shatter

  1. great start with the quote…so many people drink to forget…and yet…i think, once drunk, all comes back more forcefully …great write mark..powerful closure

  2. powerful words here…

  3. You have definitely created a strong mood piece here, Mark. I feel……desperation!

  4. the concluding lines about the veiled light made my heart ache..a relly strong verse here. thank you for sharing~

  5. Mark, this would be better for me without the opening quote; it stands on its own, conveys the anger that fuels the drinking that fuels the violence that makes one angrier and back to the bottle. And truly, beneath that rage, depression, anger turned inward.

    The shards on the floor, yes, the bloodstained footprints. Very, very gritty poem, and I’m so glad I clicked on your dverse link today. Sad but, in my world, it has played out by others again and again. Peace, Amy
    http://sharplittlepencil.com/2012/08/19/sunburn-for-dverse/

  6. poemsofhateandhope

    Mark – this was f**kin killer….venom, grit, anger, (my fave ingredients)- conjured up that scene at the start of apocalypse now…your not messin around with this poem- awesome

  7. def got the grit man…and never met anyone that was successful in drinking away their problems…it only seemed to enhance them….love the intensity in this…and thanks for stopping by…

  8. Wow, powefully venomous but really beautiful at the same time (if that doesn’t sound too weird). Really like the tone of this and the use of language which carries through. Loved it.

  9. to drunken numbness
    and indifference.~ yea that’ll do it but short lived ~
    great write Mark so descriptive – lib

  10. Incredibly powerful and strikes close to home. The reality of forgetting and remembering with the aid of alcohol is both harsh and enticing. You’ve captured it strongly and vividly.

  11. Wow – if I ever wondered why I quit drinking … no, seriously, there were other reasons but you’ve made an unbelievably strong case here … and the brutality and raw desperation ring with authenticity in every line … well done

    http://seingrahamsays.wordpress.com/2012/08/21/every-now-and-again/

  12. intense and written by one who obviously knows the twisted lies alcohol whispers in the night, as the demons linger around.

  13. Intense capture. Definitely a Catch-22. Drinking to forget the demons, or to drown the pain of life? A temporary fix to deeper problems. Drinking too much never fixes, only compounds. A fine line some walk, and end up getting totally sucked in. My dad was a good man but a heavy drinker, eventually took him. No I am not a confirmed tea-totaller, but I know there are no real answers in the bottom of any bottle, and hold to my self-imposed limits.

  14. “A dull glow of morning prowls outside” – magic.

  15. uh oh… all that lead to the tipping of the bottle. as Ginny said, dad a heavy drinker, so i hate when things go that way.., 😦

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  16. Wow powerful! I feel the desperation 😦

  17. Mark, I felt as if I was reading a short bio on Bukowski here. Good and powerful stuff. The evils of drink conveyed well in this.

    Pamela

  18. Wow! A beautiful composition in my opinion, Mark. Tight! The narrative stays compacted. I love its flow. It brings the reading to a/its smashing conclusion. Fabulous, sir.

  19. A touch of Bukowski, a pinch of Kerouac; great grit, awesome anger, wild words; congrats on the Nain Rouge nod; like the line /a dull glow of morning prowls outside/.

  20. Gritty and real, with a tempestuous framework.

  21. Sad when drink is no longer a friend. Powerful and tightly expressed.

  22. Such a great write—I am not sure what to add here–other than that I really enjoyed it!

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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