Vodka
talking,
First
sip turns
The
first key to
Loose
the demons
Of
past and present
Grievances.
Alcohol,
in its molecular
Complexity,
Fits
the locks installed
By
years of repression,
Pushing
down--
Compression
of memories.
But
now, with each glass
Of
tasty toxin,
The
door opens wider,
And
memory never misses
An
opportunity to escape
Into
the light,
Serrated
edges, images
Draw
blood
From
unsuspecting hearts
With
the misfortune
Of
proximity.
As
doors and windows
Are
shoved open,
Walls
emerge to block
Out
any evidence
When
tomorrow's harsh light arrives
To
reveal the damage
Inflicted
by pain's stampede--
Words
carelessly flung
In
the language of fermentation
Started
and stopped
So
precisely.
Chemistry--once
initiated--
Resists
recapture by one
Repentant
septuagenarian.
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