Unprimed (From Drink to Rot) Confessional Poetry

6—Unprimed
[From Drink to Rot]

It was always dark when I went to work at the stockyards.
Bare-cold, slush and mud-spring in Minnesota, zero
tolerance I had back then, red-eyed, half drunk—recovering
from a heavy night. And yet I made it (my mother picked
me up at my apartment room), looking undone
in the morning freeze, defined my youth, the hound
in me.
The Mississippi ran adjacent to my ride
against the towering bluffs of St. Paul, its fog-born mourning.
I had never known what steady work was, just intangible voices,
in my head, ghosts that recognized me, trying to brake my back,shapes or shadows they kept me stewed, strewn like sheep,
before them, keeping me weak, as if afraid I might catch on,
they kept coming, coming, repeated their mindless song.
Unprimed I was.
I threw the bottle toward that never-ending cry (one day),
and watched it turn to rot, day after day after day.

#1707 2-28-2007


Note: An alcoholic has one way out, find something better than what you got, otherwise, you might just as well give up and die, because drinking is suicide, it is just a matter of time.


Confessional Poetry ©2007 by D.L. Siluk



Poeta Laureado De San Jerónimo de Tunan, Perú

Awarded the Grand Cross of the City

Awarded the National Prize of Peru, "Antena Regional": The best of 2006 for promoting culture

Los Andes University (Peru): Recognition given to Dennis Siluk for his poetic and cultural contribution