The throat is the key
long gullet of hope
rebel stomach for rage
my intestines atop destruction
they are the spies
of lies
the accomplices
of alcohol

suicide is salvation
in this state
the answer
is blue sky
empty of
heaven –
the true
mask

who do we kill?
always the last note
sour and eager
futile mote
of dust

and love
finally
an instant
before
I collapse.