Stay drunk, you;
Keep worrying.
Preoccupied
With what’s next.
Can’t sleep
Without churning
Sheets like shorebreak.
Tumbled concrete,
Husking winds,
Hissing palm trees,
Gravel bullets
Of sky-spat rain.
The hole is growing
Withdrawn chill
Bring out the star storm
Get it over with.
Posts Tagged ‘Drunk’
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Firm
Posted: September 2, 2002 in PoetryTags: Add new tag, Dead, Drunk, Eye, Flesh, Imagination, Night, Power, Vinyl
I am hungry for a firm bosom
On which to lay my head, close my eyes
And hear that everything’s gonna be alright.
Careening towards conclusion
And new beginning: new days,
New nights of excess by my lonesome.,
All populated by my skewered imagination,
Made real by isolation,
Made flesh by selecting
Sentiment on vinyl slabs,
Made fleeting by drunken stupor,
Yet creating all that for a moment.
A split second where I am bitten
Drained, refilled, refueled;
Reminded of my latent power,
Envied by those hopeless dead
Beyond these walls of vapor.
Postponement and Consummation
Posted: May 20, 2002 in PoetryTags: Drunk, Green, Happy, Shit, Wind, Window
A slight stirring of wind
Holds this gauzy curtain away from the window,
Reminders of a springtime outside, all green
And flowers and wholesome shit.
Me, I just want to get drunk
Feel the empty agony of my loneliness,
Postponed by the full bottle;
Consummated by another empty can.
I can feel, yes, I can feel again
And it is maddening, yea, sorrowful;
I did live all those years numb to it,
Became numb to everything else as well.
Successful, responsible, hard-working;
Admirable, overachieving, but never enough.
All exterior virtues for exterior opinions.
Something I chose to do to have somewhere to go.
I thought I was happy,
But now I really don’t know.
Perhaps I cut off one arm to spite the other
Now frustrated I can’t cut that one off, too.
The Key to the Monk in Monkey
Posted: October 19, 1995 in PoetryTags: Drunk, Egg, Goat, Imagination, Kung Fu, Mantis, Mountains, Spirit
A chaotic path steps the manic mind
Hill and valley; summit – abyss
Mountain goat leaping skills,
Green eggs and ham from
Point to possible point
Attempt before justification attempt
To find the insight first
The new the unconditional the flexibility
Of constant movement
Adjustment, refinement
Creation of perfection through spirit
Of inventive investigation.
Nothing is quite good enough –
There is always something better:
What else can I do with this?
Enough to stay a defensive blur of feet, fists
Flying kung fu ideas and actions
Drunken praying mantis style
The key to the monk in every monkey
Is an overactive innovation:
Imagination.
I’m trying to escape;
Now, too late
To unchoose what I chose
What seems like long ago.
The responsibilities come
Steady, now – steady
As the tide churns the sand
On the beach is another
Wrinkle in the lines of my hand.
Roll with the punches, punch drunk;
More are on their way,
There’s no use cursing
About the ones landed yesterday.
I like my drunk poetry best
no matter what I say
when I’m dry and sober.
you know, the real emotions test
is being genuinely gay
when the damn day is over.
X-mas Song (dedicated to Mickey’s™ Malt Liquor)
Posted: December 25, 1990 in PoetryTags: Drunk, Mickeys, Xmas
ain’t no way to celebrate Christmas
‘less it’s a Keystone™ drunken Christmas.
ain’t no way to celebrate Christmas
‘less you pass out once or twice.
ain’t no way to celebrate Christmas
‘less you drink the 12 pack to it’s demise
ain’t no way to celebrate Christmas
‘less you’ve toasted the good Lord Jesus Christ.
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