In Canada Thanksgiving falls in October. So the Toronto GLT (et al) recovery AA/AlAnon community holds an annual roundup on Thanksgiving weekend. This year was the 36th such roundup. I haven’t missed one, yet. It draws up to 400 members from around the world but mostly from Ontario & Michigan. It’s always a good opportunity to reconnect with people I see once or twice a year, even locals, and share our progress & dedication to spiritual recovery.
I see a Ikea nightmare
Towards the end of my drunk life I was published, exhibited & performing – on my way somewhere but had become increasingly suicidal. I had the things that we’re supposed to make me feel fulfilled & satisfied & yet they left me lost and looking for a way out.
I see a pole rider
Looking back I realize I was attempting to fill a spiritual need with physical objects & accomplishment – an attempt that only made the need bigger not small. There was no such thing as enough. Booze was a mask to hide behind and when I was drunk enough to reveal something of myself.
I see a party hat
I was transferred to Toronto & here I was set, almost by accident, on the road to sobriety. First hurdle, as it is for many, to real commitment to recovery was to deal with the difference between religious and spiritual – some people still cannot grasp that difference – such is life. But for me there is a difference. It’s like the difference between life and death.
Unmasked
background:
Hendrix: burning the midnight lamp
soon … I wish I was a merman
<>
foreground:
messy coffee table
open bottles wine beer Scotch
weed rolled in papers too thin to write on
yet strong enough to hold a shared dream
<>
mid-ground:
three of us
Carl me Kathy
share this joint enterprise
laugh at a phrase I was going through
hands touch to pass
the precious opener of minds
or rather the opener of pants
as Carl loudly called it
his eyes on Kathy
she gave him a look
that said ‘see you later’
then left with her cigarettes
and the remains of the wine
<>
‘uptight bitch’ Carl laughed
as the door shut
he stayed
the supply on hand
held more appeal than
the supply leaving the room
that Jimi guitar
hooked its way around our brain
lead our eyes across patterns
the voodoo child
my eyes would wander
all along the corduroy
that hugged and held
Carl as he invitingly
pushed the coffee table away
to make room on the floor
we had become so smoke soft
only the backless floor could
hold our floating rolling bodies
till we found ourselves
naked
<>
I could feel the crosstown traffic of my heart
the sensation of his tongue on mine
the coarse grind of pubic hair on stomach
a move for a breath of air
to refresh the disguise of liquor
thighs hands lips
trimming a midnight lamp
that still burns today
but no longer needs
the bottled mask of permission
too much stem not enough where
TOpoet 