Getting Clean

 

i

 

You can boil yourself down

to the rudiments, all the way

to the very bottom, and sit there

pruning yourself to the compact form

of a bouillon cube, its salty bite

stuffed tight inside, and still

be suffused with mindless craving . . .

 

ii

 

On the bad days, he said, before

I even get out of bed I have to pray.

 

I asked him if he would mind

telling me what he prayed for.

 

I just say, “Help. Help me.

Could you help me get out of bed . . .”

 

iii

 

In the middle of the meeting, an old-timer suddenly

yelled out, “Sit down and suffer, and shut the hell up.”

 

iv

 

Hate to tell you:

the torment might

not dissipate. And

though you think

it might have sunk,

don’t be fooled. It’s

not a ship. Think:

tumor. Still alive,

still growing. After

treatment, if you’re

lucky, slightly shrunk.

 

v

 

Shrunk or unshrunk,

the new thinking says

that craving lives on

hoarding its power.

 

Even the addicts

who are atheists

learn this lesson:

There is something

bigger than they are,

and unlike them,

it lives forever.