Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Drinking’ Category

Fever-bright these eyes of mine

Missed step
Missed lie
No connection, at least I tried.

Crooked smile
Watching her leave
Turn to see me looking back at me.

Splotchy red and fever bright
Another drink
No thought tonight.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

The bzz-bzz of the night; the crystal quality of hum from fans energized by the burning of long dead ancestors; empty bottle, bitter fluid of mystic properties; one light, achingly bright.  These things move around me, above me, through me.
The power of creation, the spark which runs our daily lives, it wakes me. It wakes me with its incessantly demanding yet systematic ring.
Pounding clutter-stomp of feet, voices from an empty, empowered box, scuffle-stomp, the clink of a new bottle opened.
This is my life and night. Tonight is quiet; well down here, under the laughter of the box, the stomp of restless feet, friends, it is quiet.
Down here it’s the bzz-bzz of the night and the accompanying hum of my fan. Down here is my surcease, my comfort and my smile. This empty bottle mocks me. It laughs and I grin. “Soon”, I say, “Soon I will rejoin the zoo that is upstairs.”
But right now I enjoy the repartee I have cultivated with my buzzing and humming companions.

Read Full Post »

Your stuck in my brain
I don’t remember feeling a thing
Your face is a haze of shadow and light
All that’s left of alcohol nights
Your voice I can’t recall
Your name you never gave
There, at the tip of my tongue, your taste.

And

From me you have nothing
From you I took nothing
Neither the richer for it
Just a little stickier, older and spent
We part our bodies before the sun
We hug a goodbye , have a nice life
I remember you paid for the room.

Read Full Post »

Not so quiet an eve’ning; I mean the woods out back are quiet but in here… Conversation runs rampant the music is just a little too loud, which makes the conversation a tad louder than it needs to be and the whole room is filled with the noise of it. Topics run the gamut, from yesterday to the day just after birth, the booze flows freely and often. Family and friends drink and laugh and are all full of goodwill and good food. The house is warmth and affection, rivalry, revelry and all the old arguments of long friendship. Old stories relived and retold, new jokes and old.

These are the moments that make the stories we retell at future gatherings, we will hear again for the hundredth time each foible of tonight, re-live the meal, what was the name of that dish? And laugh again at the jokes and hi-jinx of this eve’ning.

The laughter is infectious. The dinner table is such a small thing, seats only four, yet it fits the whole room. The same conversation and camaraderie cover the crowd, from one wall to the other. It moves like the waves, in sets followed by calming surf-noise, a sort of silence. A static/surf filled silence. We move then in smaller groups, little swirls of conversation moving among the flotsam and jetsam of dead topics upon the sand of the eve’ning till we re-collide and start a new set of waves. Soon the tide will shift and there will be a breaking up of us, each to their own devices but for now we laugh and drink and talk and remember till the call of good-night!

Read Full Post »

I wasn’t supposed to be drunk today,
I wasn’t supposed to be drunk yesterday either.
But its Sunday morning and I’m broke.
Reaching for that last glass, next drink is Friday.
It’s nearly sunrise and I’m 40 in the hole,
so I savor this first taste of the day; last shot of the week.

CAN’T THINK QUICKLY, EVERYTHING IS SLOW AND UNBALANCED. THE WORLD CAN’T STEADY OR FOCUS. MY FRIEND’S VOICES DRONE ON AND ON AND COMPREHENSION COMES LATTER. THE WORLD MAY BE SLOWER AND MY UNDERSTANDING IS KATYWOMPUS BUT MY FLESH IS TWITCHING WITH RESTLESSNESS. THINGS ARE REMOVED AND DON’T TOUCH ME, A BUBBLE IS FORMING. THE DOORS ARE CLOSING.

The reason I like alcohol: it dulls all the edges. The world is too bright and alcohol blurs everything for me.

Abrading,

Rough Against My Conscious;

Their Conversation.

Read Full Post »

I’m Drunk and I cant sleep
I call my Love and I can’t weep.

I must be a pussy
Because I can’t think.

I call my love
And I can’t speak.

She doesn’t answer
She’s asleep.

It’s not a surprise
It’s a week…   …day.

It’s a monday
And I can’t driftaway.

It must be a monday
Because I can’t sleep.

It must be the alcohol
Because I can’t weep.

Read Full Post »