Sunday, July 31, 2011

Cocktail Hour

I have to drink, or else the urge to call someone will be just unbearable and kind of like the rhyme here but if I think about that rhyme, or even the time or anything else outside of my own sweat-scented madness then it all will go away I'll be betrayed by that ugly lie that I belong to everyone and there's nothing private here that's not for public consumption anymore, god how I hate it, could anything be more miserable, more unfair, no wonder the ones like me still show everyone how far you can kill yourself without actually dying.

Ruth Powers-7-31-11

Sunday Morning

The sun threw the world into a technicolor relief—the land of Oz before the anguished journey. To forsake the perfect blue sparkle of the sky, the jagged, red rocks beckoning in the distance was almost unbearably painful. But the basement beckoned with the safely of the womb—the womb that would, for a short hour, embrace her crazy children so that they could go out in the world without doing too much more harm.

Hearing the monotonous drone of the Prayers--3rd and 7th —Trudy was swept along by a comforting numbness. Maybe God (whoever THAT was) could take away the burden of her SELF (which was definitely a prison). But then, even she wasn't childish enough to believe that hearing the words was the same as doing the work.

The reading was about the serenity prayer—and also—once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. The only choice being whether or not to be a sober alcoholic. But Trudy wondered still—still had that sick little/loud voice that would not shut up—that continued to ask her, “Are you sure? Now that you're on those anti-anxiety meds (yes, they make you see double sometimes, and sure you feel sleepy) don't you think you could drink in moderation? Aren't you normal, yet? Haven't you earned it? Isn't that awful itchy skin that you need to jump out of gone now—most of the time?"

The roar of the coffee maker rumbled like an earthquake through the silent breathing and mild shuffling of the 5 minute meditation. Trudy stood up from her perfectly, carefully chosen seat at the ring outside the inner circle, her seat near the door, next to her beloved tote that had its own seat should anyone get the wrong idea and try to sit next to her. She dug through her tote for the sweet round white pill. “Ahh”, she thought, "this is my morning meditation.”

Ruth Powers--07/31/11

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Growing Gills

I can't adjust the fan so that
it gives me air (to breathe)
without disturbing you and things
much more important than my needs.

Ruth Powers, 7-30-11

Friday, July 29, 2011


I have a strange propensity
to push with such intensity
it tears me up.

It's not about
it's just that I can't stop
till I arrive.

Ruth Powers, 7-29-11

Thursday, July 28, 2011

The Gift of Not Me

so numb
words won't come

sit down
in a*maze
buzzy head
lovely haze

Ruth Powers, 7-28-11

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Wrong Question

"Why have You forsaken me?"

"This much, I know, is true:
There is no self, no Other;
you have forsaken You."

Ruth Powers--7-27-11

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


Beyond my understanding--
to be brought this low,
but I guess if I don't get it,
then I don't need to know.

So I give up--won't try to fix
these rifts within my soul--
just hope that being this broken
will finally make me whole.

Ruth Powers--7-26-11