Lost in Antarctica

At A.A., they told me to keep it simple. That's the secret. The moon is just the moon, but it is God's moon. And if you want to keep the booze from screwing over your head and heart, then you have to know the order of things in the world. Your place in it. Because you ain't much at all. And so your every prayer better be soaked with your blood to show you mean business. No one else's no more. It's okay. Just gently reach out to them and tell them you're sorry. You fucked up. It got away from you. The wind was so cold and deadly. Still is, but you've cooked yourself down now to the remembered warmth of everything and everyone good that's brushed against you, and that's enough to keep you from freezing to death---like you were lost in Antarctica, or something.

clouds or mountains,

my old sleeping bag

with its stains