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Coups de cœur Cultura
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If you don't like this poem....you should pass this collection by.
Doors of Addiction
When DeLorean was arrested
I spent the weekend at the home
of a drug dealer: snorting coke, watching the news
and waiting for the door to be kicked in.
On Sunday, something kept knocking against my hollow soul
the way rocks clang off an empty, metal barrel.
Echoing, I drank more beer.
Later, kneeling before a shifting toilet,
I asked Almighty God to let me live just that day.
My face burned and the veins of my neck ached from the strain
Covered with sweat, I was afraid
but could soon forget that God had listened.
Sometimes then, I would see myself from across the room
and wonder if anyone else
thought I looked like a talking dead body
waiting for God to kick the door in
