I love: Franz Wright.

He was born on the 18th of March in Vienna. His father was James Wright, an established poet who won the Pulitzer. Franz also won the Pulitzer, for his collection, “Walking in Martha’s Vineyard”….

He writes short poems about his experiences as an addict– and his way back to sobriety. 
Everything is very small, very miniature. He can capture the world on the head of a pin.

Here is a poem he wrote about alcohol, suggested by Evan:

Alder Street

Alcohol's effect (on us):
how was it Lowry described it--
A dead tree struck by lightning
which thereupon miraculously
blossoms.

And what then? Always,
always comes the
then what:
I speak of

the Fear.

Too well what I refer to one of you will understand!

Having one of your own, too well you know
the idiot I have to babysit
to keep him from sleepwalking off
to a package store somewhere
or conning some doctor even dumber than he is
into prescribing his death.

And then one about erotic love: 

Say My Name

I'd be entombed
inside a period
in the closed book
in the huge dark

of St. Paul's
where we used to meet,

wafted

downaisle toward
banked sunlight-colored candles.

I'd be in your mouth,
in that huger dark:

body that stands for the soul.

Word that means you are loved.