below board, the intellectual decline

words become a floodblanket
wrapped wet and heavy, solving the mouth
in a mess and tangle of sounds

this is torture, if ever I have known it
living in the wake of moments viewed through an aperture
ripped open in time, sadness pouring over edges
and filling cup and glass half empty

so I drown in one hundred
ten proof vodka and sink like a stone;

remember what it's like to disappear without moving,
how to live inside the bedrock
broken.