My old drunk friends don’t think
I’m fun sobered up, and it’s true.

No longer do I gag down the medicine
and feel my jaggedmost thoughts. 

I used to pull some attention 
in my imaginary heart–false confidence 
in almost everything I’d have to mend
in the morning. Maybe boring is okay.

Maybe the cardboard walls I’ve built
around my throat will remain dry
for many more years–many more years.