it takes a drunk

to know another drunks

burden, that bridges

the drinking, crosses

the problem, erases

the solution, that no one

wants to taint their hands in,

sometimes it takes

a bleeding ulcer, to bring

together a near-fatal

relationship of a father

and son, that has gone

when the fists couldn’t

break through a seventeen

year mirror, anymore

alcoholics anonymous and all

the 24-hour urgencies and treatment;

drinkline, helpline, pink floyd

supportline, newsvine,

the critics of a crisis ambiance,

all falling short of christ

sometimes it takes

the half of a brain of an ant,

that walks across white typing

paper, thinking unseen,

carrying something

3-times its size in its jaws,

until a ball-point pen traces

and runs over its tiny body

on the word, destitute

when the flow of ink

skittles into a clear fluid

of legs and antennas, heart,

venom and digestive system;

all meshed and dismembered

into the next word, remains.