Another Glass Please (A Poem)

Well, I failed in my dream to have a short story ready for my last day of this week-long posting marathon, but oh well.  I was having some major problems restarting the story I was working on before my laptop crashed, but now I think I've got it, thanks to reading some Ray Bradbury for inspiration.  So hopefully within the next 2 weeks I'll have that story posted here.

As for this poem, I don't know, I have mixed feelings about it now.  I like aspects about it - I just added the division between the 2 parts, and I like the disparity of the images between them, but like some of the other poems I posted this week, the ending feels a little off to me.  Even when I was writing it the ending ended up being a little rushed.  I was writing 2-3 other poems at the time too, along with getting down some notes for some stories I wanna write soon, so I just kinda rushed this one to an ending.  My problem is that the ending is too clean - it gets the general idea I want at the end of this poem, but the tone is all wrong I think.  Like everything I write, it just needs a little work. 

Anyways, this is the last post for the week!  I wanted to have something completely new today, like a poem about race, since I talked about race on Nobody's Rambler today, but I couldn't think of anything.  I'm gonna admit, my brain's going to mush a little bit these days, and keeping up with my work is getting kinda hard.  But I'm gonna stay back on track here from now on, so count on another poem next week!
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Another Glass Please
by Matthew Stalbaum

I.
I'll be fine, I'll be fine, for some
It's a danger, a numbing of spirits,
Dousing the fire, and the world
Becomes a dream in haze, blurring
By the light of smoke & shadows--

Edges round out, lose their cut,
And skin becomes as loose as cloth, distant,
To be shed by shutting the eyes
Walking in darkness in nothingness,
Becoming it & dissolving--

II.
I fall, but only to feel

To touch and know what touch is,
To feel my breath as it builds, then waits,
the exhale
a low moan to feel it
Vibrate in my chest like electricity.

It burns, it boils, deeply,
And my heart grows hot from the coals,
Too hot - I cringe
I writhe, I shake my hands, my head
Grasping blindly for the words
That aren't God, aren't the glass, but perhaps,
For once, maybe only now
Are me.