If your goal is to drown
your sorrows until they can't
see the light of day, few things
would help you on your way as speedily as booze.

As you lay in the dismal loneliness
of your room, let it crawl down
your throat, twisting in your insides
like a serpent of fire. Do your ghosts
still haunt you? Pull up the shades,
do they still walk the streets?
Do they climb out of road cracks and up the towers? Drop the shades, drink the wine.

If your goal is to transcend yourself
and cross boundaries, few things
would help you on your way as speedily as booze.

Write about love and pain and shame and sweat in 70 journals. Hold your pen like a scythe or hammer, paint
your blood on the pages; your miraculous masterpiece.

If you still feel cheated of some marvelous experience, drive off in your rust-colored car with an asthmatic exhaust, ask the sun, ask the breeze
and everything that moans and creaks.
Don't be a slave to your incapability.
But beware! The road is drunk on blood.