I am reading a remarkable book of poetry by Kaveh Akbar, Calling A Wolf A Wolf. Brave, bold, astonishing – the poems express the desolation of addiction, the madness of alcoholism.
Portrait of the Alcoholic Floating in Space with Severed Umbilicus
in Fort Wayne I drank the seniors Old Milwaukee
Old Crow in Indianapolis I stopped now I regret
every drink I never took all around coffee grounds
and eggshells this sweating a mouthful
of lime as a boy I stole a mint green bra
from a laundromat I took it home to try on
while my parents slept filled its cups with the smallest
turnips in our pantry the underwire grew
into me like a strangler fig my blood roiled then
as now back on earth frogspit is dripping
down wild aloe spikes salmon are bullying
their way upstream there is a pond I leapt into once
with a lonely blonde boy when we scampered out one of us
was in love I could not be held responsible
for desire he could not be held at all I wonder
where he is now if he looked up he might see
me a sparkling I always hoped that when I died
I would know why my brother will be so sad he will tell
his daughter I was better than I was he will leave out
my crueldrunk nights the wet mattresses my driving alone
into cornfields unsure whether I’d drive out I wish
he were here now he could be here this cave
is big enough for everyone look at all the diamonds
Edge of Atlantic 
Reminds me of you only longer.
On Fri, Jan 12, 2018 at 5:30 PM Edge of Atlantic wrote:
> Bill Schulz posted: “I am reading a remarkable book of poetry by Kaveh > Akbar, Calling A Wolf A Wolf. Brave, bold, astonishing – the poems express > the desolation of addiction, the madness of alcoholism. Portrait of the > Alcoholic Floating in Space with Severed Umbilicus ” >
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