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I wrote this poem on 29 January 2002. I found it again and think it deserves better than a wine stained notebook. It's part of a perpetual series of drunk pieces/thoughts. My proximity to drunks in Helsinki was amplified by using public transportation and their relatively commonplace position in society, but their state made me consider what kinds of things happen to bring someone into this state...

Standing now in the weakness of himself
he fumbles drunkenly for names to call,
but finds only a blur of hands sketching
outlines to words he'd called before the dark
& fire took him; before the gin let loose
its furious discovery & broke
the little left to him:
his arms & teeth.