Monday, August 31, 2009

Bottom's Up

It makes no sense, the bend to drink,
to hear the clank of glasses clink,
the cheer proclaimed 'spite grief unnamed,
denial, which is truth ill-framed.

And in my body I bear scars,
a tribute to rides home from bars
with drunks behind the wheels of cars
who shorten lives of future stars.

Words gone slurring blankly boast
yet can't remember last night's toast,
the thrumming of the car's front grill,
the dying words of last night's kill.

Insanity. Approach the brink.
To think that I could use a drink.

No comments: