Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 26



THE ORPHANAGE OF MY HEART


The orphanage of my heart holds many children, children of my past. They gaze at me, fixed in an attempt to draw me near their needs. I scurry, often my head down, eyes averted, not knowing how to offer comfort or consideration to these hapless souls. Fearing the largesse of the poverty, I decline to open my small purse. What could I tender other than a tease? Nearly barren in my heart-broken, disconsolate, inconsolable state, I rarely even obligate myself to extending my hand. This is the pit of my idiocy. These wee ones have the world of hope and strength to give. I am their offertory. I am the place where their gold resides. They live inside me to fill me and bind me to life and light. I flee them in the height of misunderstanding. Disconnected from these inner spirits, I am impoverished and far too weak to grasp their help. Too fogged to see the world within, I starve in the world without.


Incubate an idea.


*

New Borne


What happens when you finally get what you want,
what you barely dared to dream?
What happens when you can hardly do more
than drip tears down from smiling eyes?
Where do you go with a future filled with proposed joy?

Heaven is an option if only you believed,
but hell has been such a perennial destination
it’s hard to realize there will be no return trip this year
or possibly ever again.

The work required to change
from an attitude of longing to one of satisfaction
is as real as all the work needed thus far.

Tending love is a host of disciplines
I want to step to, like I have done it all my life,
like I was born to do it
and I was,

Still growth is accompanied
by its own pain and awkwardness
and who am I to deny this treat.
Any new life worth living
is worth the pain to bear it.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 27



CALIBRATE COINCIDENCE


Do good. Do right. Line up with the next correct movement. Get the universe locked into the sprockets of my desires and make the miracles flow in my direction. Ah, the boy scout merit badge of sobriety. I force spiritual alchemy through the pasta maker of my small life expecting gold. And where is God? Where is the realness of reality? Where is my place in this hairy mess? Well, who knows? Am I the wizard? The Chemist? The mechanic of the galaxy? Though I wish and hope, in truth, I am not the one who calibrates coincidence. I am the receiver of.


Date your recovery.
*


Feelings/Facts

Delay is when I don’t deal with the tack,
don’t deal with the finish nail,
land up with a 12 penny in my heel
and think about waiting for the railroad spike.

Rebellion is when I run through the razor-wire fence
expecting to make a clean get away.
If I don’t socialize my problems when they are puppies
all hope is lost when faced with the big dogs.

Exiting out the fifth story window is suicide in fact,
but in my thinking I am merely rebelling.
Willingness and cooperation make a dynamic duo;
powerful combatants of delay, rebellion,
and many other joy killing, life stealing foes.

A life led with cooperation and willingness
is not necessarily perfection,
but it often feels that way.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 28

FEELINGS

Getting my feelings back was like a package delivered---not a letter bomb, more like live squid or bait of some kind. It was something to catch me out there. I think overcoming the shock was more or less the small part, though it seemed to loom at the time. The squirming, the writhing of my soul was like a pregnancy following a bad dream. I wondered how this became a part of me. I squandered my days hoping it would leave quietly some night soon. Like all difficult relationships, I attempted to hold my breath through it. Failing this, I tried to offer my feelings a guest wing in my heart and a never-ending supply of tea and cookies. When the reality of life with feelings planted itself firmly in me, I let out my breath, stopped the hostess act and endeavored to roll with it. This worked well. I have since invested in a wet- suit and fins. The squid are much easier to live with when I meet them on their turf.


Sponge off what life flings at you.

*


Yes, Virginia there is a solution

Suspended in the colloid of sobriety
the overly large molecule, which is me,
finds a fix I couldn’t imagine.

I can get better, I do get better,
I have a set of values to substitute into the old equations.
I now live in a mixture where there is one thing in common
and all the rest are variants which ordinarily don’t mix.

The scientific method is entry to homogenous living;
a concept that never made it to the table
in my days as a rogue element.

And with all this on board,
the thing I love the best is that it grows;
what I can do and how I can do it
is an ever widening frame of reference,

Even things which were once outside of my view
are now possible.
I am grateful that there is a solution
I am amazed that it is the solution to everything.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
[ame="http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane"]Sober On The Way To Sane: Sherrie T.: 9781440417344: Amazon.com: Books[/ame]
[ame="http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life"]More Lines From My Life: Sherrie Theriault: 9781448677207: Amazon.com: Books[/ame]

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 31

BLUE CROWS

Blue crows streak across my dreaming mind’s sky; they take up their post in a line of trees. I stand at the edge of a burning field. I feel nauseous at the thought of glorifying an ‘active’ life. Everything is burned, scarred and crumpled; the flashy crows call from the hedgerow. I know it’s time to fly. The fire is out and I have work to do to keep the sparks and dormant embers from ruining another harvest. I must travel with these strange birds and live an odd but regimented life. I needn’t scorch my feet on this ground again but, like my companions, must spend some time in survey. If I do not fully assess this damage, I might not fully embrace this dawn.


Bury your dead issues.


*
Why is it so hard to be me?

I have everything I could wish for.
I have love and friendship,
I have talent and ability.

What more could I want?
I don’t want more,
I want to learn how to overcome fear
and live with disappointment.

Abundance is ever at the door,
but I have no room for plenty.
Reassurance is the thing I chase after,
yearn for, pine about, but it is an illusive thing
like taking hold of smoke.

Allusion is the gift-wrap of reality
the unwrapping often puts me off the contents;
regaining my composure and reestablishing willingness
is a difficult job requiring dedication and fortitude.

The barrier before the carefree me
is thought, the strongest of all substance.
I must heal the calcifications of my mind and resist rigidity.
My thinking is what makes being me problematic
without it I am nothing at all.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

To the beginning of year three!

Originally Posted by LeftWriteFemme

To the beginning of year three!

Bring it! I'm ready! ...couldn't have said that last week.



Thank-you Sherrie, for having faith in me when I cannot; For being the longest serving member of my 'We' people, It's a hard job but someone has to do it
Thank-you for our ongoing froggy friends, they're one of the few constants in my world I adore them.

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 4



THE SCULPTOR

I'm stuck in a block; my sponsor chips away at me. I struggle to hold still. With surgical precision, she cuts through the debris with which I have surrounded myself. After my sponsor frees my hand and arm, she places a hammer in my open fingers. When the other arm and hand are rescued, she places a chisel in that hand. This is how, before my head showed above the surface, I began to help in my own restoration. I am the sculptor the program has made me. Recovery has taught me I can be anything if I keep chipping away at the things that hold me hostage. As time travels on, I am a new shape with each turn through the steps and have an ever-lustrous finish with every application of the traditions.



Everything has its own intelligence and you do, too.
*


Please Sir

Gratitude is a thing which collects and solidifies,
it’s pink and I can walk around on it.
Some days it is a broad highway
and other times a winding spindling track.

Ever present if I am mindful
gratitude roots out pests and pestilence
while planting a garden beyond my dreams.

Gratitude is like handholding
it warms and strengthens me, k
keeps me connected to real life
and reassures me that I am not alone.

Many days I find a way to make a face and pout,
plundering the rich rewards of sobriety
for the thin gruel of discontent,

Poke me with a stick on these days
and remind me who I am,
for I am never Oliver even if I feel a little twist.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 15

TRAP DOOR


The trap door of my mind opens occasionally and I find myself acting out things better left to conversation. When I leave too many things unsaid, the pressure builds and the door opens. My thoughts connect with my body minus the benefit of my brain, not to mention the brain of my sponsor. I can ill afford the consequences of these open door exhibitions and I am obligated to spend much time scrambling up the hills my outlandishness slid down. Thinking, speaking and contemplating, the prerequisites of action, must be done frequently or my mind’s sink, piled with my dirty dishes, will flood the counter top, then leave dishes crashing to the floor. Even if I can’t keep everything caught up, at least I can leave things soaking. I can start notes or little chats so I am not weighting the latch. I can prevent the coupling of impulse and exploit. All I have to do is stick out my tongue.


Release your emotions from captivity.

*


Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree

The chairs in the loft are empty,
but I still hear the choir sing.
The bottle though it’s empty,
still sometimes calls my name.

Though front pocket is empty
and there is rolled up empty sleeve,
still the nicotine haunts my dreams.

On this empty road I travel,
I still long for company.
The stillness is not all that’s empty,
but I run to fill that spot.

Chaos is like a tapeworm
it eats me from the inside,
but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 17


LUCK

Luck, transposed for gratitude, makes a mockery of grief and loss. If you are lucky, what does that make me? The forgotten? The orphan of fate? If what I lost and what it cost me is just a lack of fortune, then why do right? What is sea level? I may deserve all the sweetness in the world but what explains the pain? I’ve heard that life’s not fair and laughed at the underestimation of the claim. If pain is the touchstone of growth and you are lucky and I’m hurt, does that make you short? And what is the point of growing tall?


Blow kisses to stars which look familiar.

*
Ground Floor


Step 10 is the place where the doors slide open
and I discover I am out of the basement.
I have to pay close attention to where my feet are;
it is so easy to stumble here in the light of day.

Obvious limitations and universally accepted interpretations
are pried from installation and put on trial.
Never is it acceptable to allow my alcoholic thinking
to make decisions for my sober life.

The road to my door must be kept clear
so I can get out to do my part
and so God can come home to me.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 20


RANK


I took an area level service position and my sponsor laughed herself off her chair.
“What is your motivation for this?” she asked.
“I want to move up through the service structure,” my reply.
“Are you trying to make rank?”
“Problem with that?" I ask.
“Ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecy? You will become what you desire. You will become rank and you will stink. The triangle is inverted to help you clean up your act. Don’t get washed away in a tide of ego.”
I put down my swim fins and removed my epaulets.



Listen intently enough to hear the music of the planets spinning in your mind.
*




Bummed
I accept change
like coins slipped into a cup
that sits beside me on the curb.
Never did it occur to me
that I look in need of pity
or alms from strangers;
Which is to say
I don’t accept much these days,
yet I do not fight it either.
I keep my head down
when I can no longer fend off the inevitable.
I may not win control or compliance,
Might not remain strong enough to fight another day,
but this too is a blessing somehow.
A laying down of arms.
Money in my pocket
makes the world a funny place to endure
when I’m living in the tiny room in my head.
What good news it would be
if I learned to throw the windows open
and let the day take me.
This time it’s God
that needs to wear the ear muffs
and lead me through the coldness of change.
On my own I just walk farther
down the blind alleys
and fold myself on this sidewalk in exhaustion.
I don’t like the tea or the sympathy,
but I don’t think I would mind if God took me in.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 1

RAIN

The rain makes shadows of water. It spills onto the ground like tiny worlds. What had been airborne and mist is now earthbound and integral, feeding, cutting, learning the world. Once I contemplated theories and mystery. Now, washing dishes is a spiritual service. The view was lovely when I was above it all but now I course through the veins of life. There may come a time when I am untouchable again but by then I will have been a part of it all. I will carry the world with me always, an orbiting servant not just above but through.


Engrave compliments in your mind.

*
Clock and Calendar Girl


I depend on the count and measure of time to get me through.
The swing of the pendulum carries me from moment to moment
and the divisions between days are like the rungs on a ladder;

I climb from month to month and age to age.
When I hold my breath I count the tic, tic, tic
till the difficult time passes and I can inhale once more.

Harder things require X’s in their numbered boxes
to help me transverse the larger distance and rockier terrain.
Take away my clock and I go deaf,
remove my calendar and I go blind.
Tools are tools even if they only aid sight and sound.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 2


PADUANS


The pussy willows bloom looking much like crested poultry. The coldest part of my heart is fighting to thaw in this early spring. Weather is not of the mind to be rushed. Neither my hopes nor the changing calendar can persuade the warmth into the May mornings. It’s May for me, too, no longer the early sobriety of January. The years have marched on; I wait for the delivery of my returning brains. Long term sobriety has begun but I am still beset with the chill of fragility. I desire dignity and find myself strutting like a fowl with blooming plumage, addled and gawky.
“Don’t worry,” says my sponsor, “the pussy willow is in no way less for showing itself in the rawness of growth.”



Listen to the sounds of your life.
*


Unfettered


“The difference between a demand and a request
is apparent to everyone.”
A drunk once said this and I hold it to my heart.
I can not be bullied or swindled into a corner;
neither will I allow you to put a rope around my neck
like a wayward calf.

I obey because it works for me
and if you teach me that you are untrustworthy
or careless I will obey you no longer,
this doesn’t make me less obedient
it just takes you out of the lead.

Sometimes I hold the reins
and most times they are in the hands of God,
but never shall my reins be in the hands of another,
this is what I drank over
and this is what I could drink over again.

No one person is my salvation
and I cannot allow anyone to be my demise.
If you consume me like a drink,
I will kill you as surely as any drug.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 5

STOP TALKING


“Try to stop talking when people stop listening,” said my sponsor. “And try not to take it personally.”
“Why is that?” I query.
“Most individuals can’t handle much of anything real. Try as they may, they are unable to listen to anyone speaking the truth. Tell them a story; you can hold their attention all day. Sprinkle bits of honesty into the tale and you still will keep your audience. But strafe them with bullets of the truth and they will run for cover.”
“I’ve seen it happen. I never knew what made them scurry, but I have seen them sprint away.”
“It’s a coping mechanism. If you try to turn their heart too quickly, they’re afraid it will stop beating.”
“Why is it you never worry about that with me? You tell me the facts whether I want to hear it or not.”
“I can tell you because you take step 3.”


Color a page using only three crayons.


*


Fearing Fearlessness

How many times
have I given the credit to night blind fear,
credit due the brave persistent child?

How many times
have I blamed the willing diligent pursuer
when the fault was the backstabbing delay of mistrust?

I resist the onset of freedom.
Fear was my oldest familiar
and I put from my mind that it was my jailer, captor;

Kidnapped me from my cradle
and kept me locked from God’s fine intentions.
Fearlessness sounds debilitating to my crippled ears,

Organs who hear well the disclaimers
and are deaf to the claims.
I am the producer of bile and addicted to dread,

Endorphins wear white hats
and win the day
once this yellow belly is put to bed.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 3


ACCEPTANCE, ACTION, CHANGE

Acceptance equals action. Without action, acceptance is a death sentence. Action puts me in the hands of my Higher Power; inaction puts me at the mercy of others, or worse, self-justification. For acceptance to glow with life, it must be moving.
Action equals change. Action without change is repetition. The moon does not change. It orbits flat on its face, forever dark on one side and a mere reflection on the other. Change sparks possibilities in mundane endeavor.
Change equals acceptance. Change without acceptance is a walk off a cliff. For change to endure, agreement is necessary. A one-sided argument is fascism and fraudulence. The heart of change is acceptance, beating the blood of hope to the extremities. Whether we circle the heavens or the bowl depends on the cohesion of acceptance, action and change.


Listen to new music, sing old music.

*
Give Me a Goose Any Day

The geese breaking wind resistance,
the close ones,
the far ones,
the ones behind trumpeting
this is the gang who gets me sober
and keeps me that way.

Maybe you think that God is not a flock of geese,
but it has been my experience
and the honking and the mess are part of it all.
I spend my days making sure I am one of them.

Sometimes I am even in the lead,
which may seem like a place of honor and prestige,
but is actually a lot of hard work.

Sometime I am the cheering squawker
who makes my encouragement heard.
Other times I am the one waddling around
leaving an untidiness behind me.

All of this just makes me part of the flock.
I am especially fond of my nest mates
though they are often the ones I chase
and bluster at the most.

I feel a sense of identity and pride
when I see any goose flying high
and I know that because we don’t do it alone
we are able to do it together.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 29

FUTURE TENTS

The future seeps in through the windows, like the dawn stealing across the sky. Once I inhale it, I am out of doors, only the lightest of canvas covering me. The opening flaps in the breeze. The wind of unbidden things echoes off the walls of people shut out from this adventure. I brace myself for the cutting current but am greeted by the softest of zephyrs. I duck out. I stand unfettered. Lonely whispers call but I am isolated. The scene is empty, serene and beautiful. There are other tents, other seekers standing on other hills but they see their own futures from the vantage of their own tents and thankfully I am left to see mine.


Tape a coin to the place you sleep.

*
Catalog of Growth

The right seed in the right season
grows a garden of miracles for me.
I get the food for my table
or the stores for winter.

Sometimes when I’m in a Jack like predicament,
right planted seeds can provide a bean stalk
of escape from my restricted life.

I have a role to play with these wonders.
I must sort the seeds from the pebbles.
I must let the kernels out of my pocket
and into the ground.

I water when I can
and harvest what comes to fruition.
Though the best by far
is the part when I get to share the seeds.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

March 30



CRAZY


I try on crazy, the way I sometimes get out the jump rope, and see if all those muscles still work. The unemployed, unexploited, fallow nature of my once fertile insanity saddens me in an odd way. Today is a place I stand in stiff comfort, though it has taken concerted effort to get here. There are days I slip from reality, the way I can slip off a chair. I no longer allow myself to lounge on the floor. Pride is not so much the issue as hygiene. Crazy is bad for my health. I gave it up like cigarettes or romance novels; I don’t have enough time or insurance for these dalliances, though I do remember them all with fondness.


Allow yourself a favorite spoon.
*


Face and Ass


“It is hard to save your face
and save your ass at the same time.”

What I haven’t tried
in an attempt to live my life as a showman
spotlight front and center.

What I wouldn’t sacrifice to keep
peace and image intact,
but in the end it was just that,
my end, that saved me from
a life chasing prevention of defacement.

I can’t live with the posture of an ostrich
it leaves so much at risk.
Hiding my face won’t protect it
no matter how much I wish it would.

I have to put my butt in a seat,
a seat up front where folks get to know my face.
I have to try my best yet still make mistakes
and let people know my ass as well.

Being a part of AA saves my behind,
once that is cosseted
my face might just get its day in the sun.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 6



MORE


Sometimes people get more than they can handle. The evidence of this is their insanity or death. God is not the actuary of heaven, managing tragedy the way my loan officer manages my debt load. The victim blamers run to the ‘lack of faith’ accusation. I have to keep my hands tightly on the wheel of life or risk strangling the parrots who chirp outlandish claims but try to make it sound like help. I have to live with what I experience as real and be sober today. I will have to leave the measure of ‘more’ to time out of mind.




Lift your feet and let the chaos pass underneath
*



Two Things That Should Be One

The difference between my will and God’s will
is that God actually likes me all the time,
never looks to punish and would rather
that I don’t settle for less than what is best for me.

The difference between God’s will and my will
Is that left to my own devices
I would run in a perpetual circle and dig a trough.

I would never ask for help
and would refuse if it were offered.
I would take on misguidedness as a mantle
and wear it to my wake.

Often my will and God’s will are miles apart,
but they needn’t be.
God is the president of my fan club;
I just need to start attending the meetings.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 7

ARABIAN DAYS

There are days I feel like Scheherazade and could spin a thousand tales. Other days I feel my brain grab for its satchel and exit my ear. I find it hard to be a hospitable host to all of me, but when I stretch or strain my elbow or knee I think, “oh well, they go out, they go out,” but if my brain runs off and leaves me I am in a serious mess. I try to be a lover of my mind for when I don’t I grow small in my heart. I scent the mental bath water and light the little lights; I sing sweet songs. I wait for response. I smile broadly to hear the quick report of Rimsky-Korsakov.


Don’t transpose your feelings.


*
Out on Your Front Porch


“If you want what we have,” said my sponsor,
“you will have to follow somebody
and lead somebody and do a few other things.”

“I have to follow somebody,
that shouldn’t be too hard,” I mumble.
“In order to follow it helps if you stop looking at the ground,
lift you gaze,” her retort.

I raised my chin until I met her eyes. “Better,” said she.
“I follow you?” I ask.
“Me, yes, if I have what you want,
follow others if I don’t,” she said.

“Okay and lead somebody, how do I do that?” I ask.
“It’s attraction, Sweetie, be attractive,
show your smile and your smarts,

But most of all show that you’re sober,
because that is always your best asset.
And no matter what anybody tells you
about the allure of bad girls,
nobody can resist a good set of assets”

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 8

CONSERVATION OF LOVE


Love does not diminish. It recycles like the rain, ever in transition and transmission. Love is not salvationary or redemptive. Nor do I believe it to be the currency of Godliness. Love is an element like cobalt or gold, it has weight and substance. Love is the coinage of responsibility not a door out of consequences. Love, true love, inspires right action, never cowardice or disrespect. In this strange amelioration, standing in the wings of realism, love is love no longer. Love is the standard I have to bear, not the canopy I stand beneath. In the frozen center, love cannot endure the pressure of misinformation, and melts with friction, floods with irresponsibility. Love, like money, admiration and sex, has its place and must not have expectation of being more than it is. With that said, Love is peerless, to be treasured, protected and shared.


Run away with your heart but bring your mind.

*

Up and Down: Round and Round

Like the wheel on my spinning wheel
I pump up and down on the treadle
and the wheel spins round and round,

The roving twists in my hand and yarn is made.
Really all I do is tap my foot
and gently hold on, pulling occasionally.

It is a small part I play in this production
at least it feels small almost unnecessary,
but with a clear mind I see
that without me it doesn’t get done.

I am essential yet still just a foot-tapper and hanger-on
neither of these is prestigious
yet the whole fabric depends
on my mundane actions.

I take great comfort knowing that allover
there are foot-tappers and hangers-on
keeping safe this way of life

Sometimes keeping it safe just through sheer repetition.
And if you ask, “Is that Unity or Recovery or Service?”
All I can say is “Yes, yes it is.”


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

April 9

FINE PRINT

I can scrawl the wall with everything I know. I can fill my books, chapter and verse, with pure and honest hope, but let me begin the precision of language and watch. My once open face becomes tight; my free associations peek regularly around each corner. Neatly painted lines are a trap with teeth laid bare. Serrations of careful craft sever my umbilical and God floats off untethered. Truth returns when I am shouting my prayers. Scrupulous observance never advances my sails. I must meet life with an open hand. The devil may not be in the details but be sure to check the fine print.


Open one eye and wink at the possibilities.

*
Stumbling Under the Tenth Step

When I’ve been outside of my mind
it is so hard to tell when I’ve come home again.
The landmarks take on such distortion in memory
that the facts seem bloated or anorexic
as I turn my face from side to side.

Old journals remind me of old journeys
and perhaps there are accurate landmarks mentioned
but how can I know for sure that these too
are not just the ravings of a mind gone mad.

Real or imagined I must take the daily count
and try to keep the score
in favor of the actual.

I don’t always know that I’ve fallen
until I inventory the dirt on my face,
but better that I face the dirt
than live the delusion of a mole.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault