Fleeing from any face. Caverns of emptiness. Impenetrable moments. Seeking words upon words upon words. Sobriety in letter form. Ship and her anchor. December 23, 1993. Lighthouse and her beam. Where art thou salvation? Red-faced and jumbled. Befriend me Courage and Hope. Raiding the cabinet. See feet only. Expel my medium from my mind. Dash. Pour out the bottle. Words jittering around. Post-script. Goodbye. Drink the contents. No don’t. Drink the contents. Choke. Pray for salvation.
The drunk and my medium remain tied to a passion letter and soaked with uncertainty. Where art thou salvation?
How does one live as lover to addiction and lover of Crucified-Life?