Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 17


Underoos



Why is it that I store undies I never wear in my panty drawer and leave no room for my favorites? Why is it that I have things in cupboards that have not seen the light of day in years, but they are kept as sacred? I don’t use my storage for me it is saved for obligation to inherited obsession. I live on the fringes of the only life I have; I didn’t question this, didn’t see it for what it really is. I don’t live in my skin only my head. I don’t enjoy today only plan for tomorrow. After years at this address it is time for me to move in. The mortgage is more than paid; it is time to spend my inheritance.






Be kind when you win; be kind when you lose


*

PIROUETTES

I turn and spin, the world flashes as I go.
I am erect, proud of my self-possession.
I can stand the forces of vector rotation
Public opinion and gravity.

Sobriety has made a dancer out of me.
I sprint the stage and take my place.
I know the moves and trust, as best I can
The choreographer and choreography

I feel the wind move on my body as I revolve
The blur of existence spreads out before me
I can let it pass

To spot myself and keep my upright posture
The only place that requires my clear and unobstructed view
Is the line of sight from my sponsors eyes to mine.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 18



Pearly Whites

Reaction is a separation, a polarization; it cuts you from me and God from we. Response is a connection, an inclusion; threading a line from you to me and stitching G-d into our pockets. I realize now that any positive connection is an instantaneous link to my Higher Power and can’t help but bring us closer. Tiny feet carry beauty and kindness; tiny teeth tear the fabric of the world to bits. I must let my footwork conduct my life’s work and seal my lips and reserve the dentistry.





If you take the cake don’t take it far



*

DRIVEWAY TIME

Layer after layer of blue stack the sky
The moon risen and the sun dipping away
I wait for the twin lights, the constellation of headlights
My ride to the meeting.

It will be the entry vehicle to a world of population
Leaving behind the galaxy of me, the single star
I stand silent and the feeling of fellowship carries the miles

Laughter flies the winds of memory
And all the old jokes of truth and tribute are fresh
And abide with me until the car arrives
And we make it all new again.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 19


Who Rang?




Examine the instillation of your buttons as a process of discovery for disabling them. Pay attention to the wiring but also to the hardware. Sometimes the advertising is the thing which keeps alive something better off put to rest. Many things are rooted in other pots and have a lifeline from outside of the current host. All the connections and housing should be explored as well as what work the mechanism does once pressed. Is there a gong, tinkling bells? Does it release the wolves from their den or tiger from his lair? Information is a tool which never fails to help me in disassembling the traps and their triggers I must not shy from the gathering.






If you reframe the past don’t crop reality


*

NETWORKS

Testing my sponsor when I’m hurt
Is like probing for gas with a lit cigar in my mouth
If I can’t find a way to douse the cheroot before posing my questions
It’s guaranteed I will get an explosive response

I need a network
They follow me with sand
Snatch from me my burning pacifier
And save me from sticking my smoldering end where it doesn’t belong

We all need a little excitement in our lives
But don’t have to become an incendiary device to fill the need
I forget that boring isn’t the same as death
It just feels that way

Some days distance prevents disaster
A good support system carries me away
To face it on another day.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 20



Martinizing


The price of upkeep scares me, it daunts me even. I pay the initial cost, I have bitten that bullet of required outlay; the continued charges for maintenance push my face in the mud until my ears clog. Avoiding the need of perpetual responsibility to things, relationships, life, doesn’t change the reality; rather it embeds in my skin a slick denial and an indignant retort to the drycleaners and shoe-shiners of the world. Waste and want play tag inside a misunderstanding of what is required of me; of what life requires in general. I must make quietude, draw a map and find my way to this psychic change; unfortunately all the little voices scream “Yes, you paid the price to see the show, but you don’t make enough to stay!”






Check your mileage so you know how far you’ve come


*

POWER

When power arrives
It comes complete with a blindfold
Mask and lullaby

I am blinded to what effect I have
Others can not see me
Only the unchanging masquerade covering my face

All my fears and apprehensions are soothed
By the melody singing in my ear
I am possessed

The hard thump of the bottom reaching up to get me
Is my sole hope of release
I can’t reason my way back from a trip with power

The isolation is too far reaching
My senses numbed
My thinking biased

Salvation as a cold smack is the jolt required
Fire takes fire
Power takes the same

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 21



NaCl


I work arithmetic instead of telling you to stop. I make a light remark, never take a stand until I have worked the numbers and believe that the weight of suffering is on my side. I store in the cellar the salt I found in my wounds and label it with, names, dates and corresponding critique, all waiting, hoping, I will never need to disclose them, but keeping they’re accounted for just in case things go badly. I believe there is no chance for error with silence and no wrong when I have backup in the basement, but I need to table the salt and risk my reality. You can’t hurt me worse than I do when I pour old salt and create new wounds.








Bang the drum, expect a sound


*

FROZEN STRAWBERRIES

I have them in the freezer, I tell my sponsor
I’m sure you do, when are you going to take them out
And reenact spring, she retorts.

I don’t want to take them out before I’m ready
I don’t want them to go to waste.
Oh the Excuse Maker, the Staller

Are you going to drag all the old chestnuts out of the closet?
I thought you were going to defrost the strawberries.
Fear, you’re saying, Fear of strawberries is not a sign of stability I ask her?

Eat the strawberries or not
But it seems to me you didn’t get sober
To avoid the sweeter things in life

Keeping all your goodness locked up
In the deep freeze
Destined for frost bite.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 22




Inspection



My disease paid a discourtesy call on my bourgeoning sobriety; peeked in to look for cracks in my foundation, weaknesses to exploit. I recognized the patch job I had toyed with would have made the easiest of targets for this eroding thug. I am ever so grateful that I cleaned off all the bricks and made new mortar. Built on bedrock my re-laid block will withstand the indignity of the pounding, prodding sickness, which used to inhabit this once dilapidated space. I can keep the villain at bay and live my cozy life thanks to a true level and the handsome turn of my trough.





Personal knowledge is not the same as group knowledge

*

SPACE

I stand behind the podium
And talk about the event horizon
Which brought me into these rooms.

My audience, other unwitting astronauts,
Whose lives, like mine were deconstructed
By the Black Hole of addiction

Though the time and place may be different
The physics of compulsion and allergy
Are precise and repetitive

Nodding heads affirm my calculations
To be accurate with the vectors
And trajectories of their own experience

I conclude, with the gratitude of a reassembled life
And pray, with gravity
For my feet to stay on the ground.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 23




The Delano’s


Indifference is the backbone of power. It is a state of faithlessness, not infidelity, but rank apathy, saving every ounce of ardor for the prize you seek. I thought I was the prize and I am; I’m just no longer yours. Cast aside for the leviathan and the miscreants I wonder what I could have done to hold your attention, the answer is nothing. Nothing could be done. Blinded by the ambition of heroism the struggle is the goal and no gem no matter its brilliance can check your drive toward a place in the epic narrative. Tis the hero’s lament to save every life except your own.






Bend with the tracks or don’t take the train

*

SEASONAL EXPECTATIONS

If I am out of sync with the way the world turns
I can be nothing but disappointed
I arrive with ice skates on the hottest summer day
And grieve the loss of spring

I shiver in my sandals and ponder
The need for a windshield scrapper, the autumn so long past
I must orchestrate my moods and movements
With the evolution and revolution about me

I will learn to sing with the doves in the morning
And the coyotes come the moon
I can spin with the stars
And grow with the grass

I don’t need to counter-balance life
If I learn to bend with the tides
It all comes around again;