saturate

saturate my skull
with bittersweet ethanol
a marinade of make-believe
pickled and preserved for posterity

surrounded by tongues
in familiar spaces
where the lines don't blur as quickly
and the expectation

of drunken sandpaper,
working off the old wood
strips the furrowed bark
to the fresh green flesh beneath

and suddenly I am
much easier to stomach
much easier to place
much prettier and comfortable

a grand mediator
supportive and structured
understanding, stimulating
a space to entertain, to

quiet the shame
quiet my name
quiet the truth,
throbbing phantom pains

my ears are trained
to pick up the sound
reverberating off my soggy skull
a silent signal

transcribed in circuit
with flailing limbs and
manic phrasing
the cadence of conviction

a confident con artist
smiling bittersweetly
soaking my skull,
preserved for posterity

barely a difference
cyclical and same
if it doesn't feel different
why do I abstain?