ALCOHOLIC WRITER LOOKED AT HIS CLOCK RADIO
ITS DIGITAL NUMBERS GLOWED 300 AM
IT WAS WORRY THAT WOKE HIM
IT WOKE HIM OFTEN
HE TURNED
TRIED TO GET BACK TO SLEEP
BUT HIS MIND CHATTERED LIKE A COCAINE MONKEY
ABOUT ALL THE THINGS TO FEAR
ALL THE THINGS TO DO
HE OPENED HIS EYES
EVERYWHERE THEY LOOKED
THERE WAS A MESS OR MISTAKE TO FIX
THIS IS IT THOUGHT THE ALCOHOLIC WRITER
THE WORRY HAS ME AND WONT LET GO TILL DAWN
HE BLINKED
AND SAW AN IMAGE
HE CLOSED HIS EYES AND STARED AT IT
THE IMAGE WAS OLD WORN AND POSTCARD SIZED
IT DEPICTED IN WARM COLORS
A BED IN A CANDLELIT ROOM
KNEELING BESIDE THE BED WAS A CHILD
HEAD BOWED HANDS CLASPED
KID WAS PRAYING
WHERE HAD HE SEEN THE IMAGE
LONG AGO
ON SOME PRAYER CARD
WHAT WAS THE KID PRAYING FOR
HIMSELF
HIS FAMILY AND FRIENDS
FOR A TOY
A PLAYSTATION
IT WAS EASY TO MOCK THE SAPPY IMAGE
FOR A MOMENT HIS MIND POINTED AND LAUGHED AT THE THING
THE LAUGHING DIED OFF
AND THE IMAGE REMAINED
WARM BEAUTIFUL AND COMFORTING
AT 3 AM THE AWAKE AND WORRIED ALCOHOLIC WRITER
ASKED WHY NOT
AND IN HIS MIND REACHED FORWARD
TO GRASP THE IMAGE ON THE PRAYER CARD
SUDDENLY
HE WAS IN THE CATHEDRAL OF HIS MIND
HE KNELT IN ITS SINGLE PEW
HE LIFTED HIS HEAD FROM HIS CLASPED HANDS AND LOOKED AROUND
IT WAS WARM AND DIM IN THE CATHEDRAL
IT WAS BEAUTIFUL EMPTY AND VAST
ITS BEAUTY WAS ITS EMPTINESS
NO IMAGES WERE HUNG UP TO INFILTRATE HIS EYES
NO SOUNDS SNUCK INTO HIS EARS
THERE WAS ONLY THE EMPTY VASTNESS
HE COULD NOT SEE AN ENTRANCE OR EXIT TO THE PLACE
NOR ITS BEGINNING OR END
NOT EVEN THE CEILING
ONLY HE EXISTED
WITHIN THE CATHEDRALS CLOUD GREY WALLS
THAT STRETCHED ON UNTIL THEY VANISHED INTO DARKNESS
HE WAS ALL KNELT AND HAND CLASPED
SO HE TAPPED INTO THE UNIVERSE THE WAY HE WAS TAUGHT
CATHOLIC STYLE
HE CALLED OUT TO GOD OR WHATEVER IT WAS
THAT WAS DEEP INSIDE ALL AROUND AND EVERYWHERE
UHHHH
THANKS FOR THE WORDS SAID THE ALCOHOLIC WRITER
THEY KEEP COMIN
I APPRECIATE IT
TRYIN TO WRITE EM ALL DOWN
I FEEL LIKE A BROKEN WATER MAIN
ALL THIS STUFF FLOWING OUT
BUT
IS IT GONNA DRY UP
AM I GONNA FIX MY BREAK SOMEHOW
STOP THE FLOW
WILL THE WORDS LEAVE ME
WITH NOTHING BUT BLANK PAGES BOOZE AND BITTERNESS
HIS FEAR WAS CONFESSED
IT FLOATED AWAY
DISAPPEARED INTO THE DARKNESS
HE FELT RELIEF
ENJOYED IT IN THE SILENCE
THEN HE HEARD A CALM VOICE
HIS VOICE
IT SAID
STUPID
THE ALCOHOLIC WRITER WAS ALL EARS
KEEP BEING STUPID SAID HIS VOICE
IF YOU REMAIN STUPID
NEVER A BLOCK WILL IMPEDE YOU
DARE TO BE STUPID
TO DO STUPID THINGS
TO WRITE ABOUT STUPID STUFF IN YOUR STUPID STYLE
DARE TO BE STUPID
TO STUMBLE AND TRIP
TO PRATFALL IN FRONT OF A CROWD
AND LAUGH WITH THEM
AT YOUR UNENDING FLOW OF STUPIDITY
DARE TO BE STUPID
BE PROUD OF BEING STUPID
BE STUPID WHILE YOU STILL HAVE TIME LEFT TO BE STUPID
JUST KEEP BEING STUPID
STUPID
AND NEVER A BLOCK WILL IMPEDE YOU
NOW GO TO SLEEP STUPID
THE VOICE WENT AWAY CATHEDRAL VANISHED
ALL THAT REMAINED WAS AN EMPTY BRAIN AND A WARM BED
THE ALCOHOLIC WRITER SUNK BACK INTO SLUMBER
SLEPT LONG AND DEEP
IN THE MORNING HE FELL OUT OF BED
STEPPED ON A CLUSTER OF LEGOS
AND RAN INTO A CABINET DOOR
HE TURNED ON THE TV AND HEARD NEWS
THAT NOT ONE NOT TWO BUT THREE WATER MAINS
HAD BUSTED OPEN ALL OVER TOWN
ALCOHOLIC WRITER ATE HIS BREAKFAST
AND JOTTED HIS THOUGHTS ABOUT THAT
COPYRIGHT 2010 HAFJAK DIVIZ
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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