Bar-Brawl Chronicles: Sobriety Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

And I was pampered
By deity hands
That dangled over my shoulders
I asked her what her name was,
And she said, “I don’t leave.”

I don’t know why she said
That. I was spinning in vertigo,
And she felt this inverse.
I’ve not had anyone in life
That intoxicated me right to
The brim of the chasms
Of life and death.

I forgot my dollar bills
At the alley where they
Castigated me for being profound
And metaphorical
And they cursed my shabby facade
Because I didn’t look like them
And it felt as if
I am haunted by these interlaced fingers,
And a woman dabbing iodine to my
Bloodied mouth
Singing songs that I do not know,
And how sober I was
To recognize.

It’s like everything’s a bar-brawl.
Love is a bar-brawl
Of two drunken hearts
Death is a bar-brawl
Of a drunken state of chronology
Life is a bar-brawl
Of millions of drunk people
Stupefying themselves
Hate is a bar-brawl
To find meaning
Is a bar-brawl
In front of the mirror
With the gods watching you,
The audiences sneering
At your sorry, pale face.
Acquainting with people
Is a bar-brawl
Of foreign tongues and archipelagos
Reaching for each other
As they are swoon over by the inebriation
Of every ensuing fire
From unmanned volcanoes.

I slowdanced internally.
My chambers of winter lots
Are enveloped by more snow.
After she dabbed iodine,
Said her prayers for me,
And wished me well,
She said goodbye,
Without saying it.

And so did the others.
They think they don’t say goodbye
When they leave.

These people
Are so drunk to the heart
That the hangovers
Last a lifetime.