Saturday, October 6, 2012

Advil and Alcohol Cures Everything

Will you please come to me in my dreams, after three and before four, when the pain is less and sleep comes best to my sleepless brain?

The pain in my mouth has almost gone with the sunrise.  A root canal on the horizon, like the dawn.  Three Advil after clammy night sweats, and sleep tries to claim me again.

Will you please come to me in my dreams, after four and before five, when my thoughts express my hopelessness, and my soul needs its rest?

The pain came back in crashing waves as the sun appeared without warning.  Gray-pink light from the fetal position, and there is no fucking way... no fucking way.

Will you please come to me in my dreams, after six and before seven, when the sun is raw as an exposed and dying nerve? 

The pain isn't all in my body, or in my hanging head.  It’s closer to my soul.  And like anyone could tell you, my soul is dead. 

Will you please come to me in my dreams, if I have them, after eight or nine or ten?  When the sun hangs low and the night comes back, and I’m too tired to feel.

The pain is no more.  It has gone the way of my soul.  Rest is inevitable, if rest is what it should be called.  Maybe just a break between struggles... with what’s real.

Will you please come to me in my dreams, when my dreams are the truth, and my open eyes look at what can’t be so?

                A new pain.  What is real.  Above the lies.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday


  1. bueno. The good news is Dr. Barry patched you up, and you've got a new lease on (your teeth's) life.

    I think a root canal could be switched out for anything in this poem. I remember feeling this way when I broke up with a boyfriend many (thank god) moons ago. I'd just sit on the floor and drink vodka and look at old pictures of us.

    1. Maybe now, there should be a sequel. Like, "That Sucking Hole in My Jaw" or, "Advil and Alcohol Doesn't Cure Everything But At Least They're Safe When Used as Directed".

      Just a thought.

  2. How is it that I'm just now finding out that you write poetry. Love this free verse. Ugg, just had a porcelain crown repaired, feeling your pain.

    1. I guess I'm just an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, with a smelly old fish inside to keep people away. And I can now report that all teeth are happy once again.

  3. Oh god...and you have that pesky blurry number captcha! {sigh} Aaalllriiight, I'll put up with it I guess...

    1. And I hate those too. Sometimes, I click through several to get to one that makes any sense at all. Good to know you're not just a bot after all. Ant thank you for reading.