it’s time again
to tell that familiar tale
of drinking and thinking with
barely an inkling of
how to survive in a
tormented world
the cats don’t seem to mind though
the dog is confused, the birds
are free they just keep singing,
the crickets are silent
and the humans,
well they just don’t know…yet
most times it scares me and
thrills me to go
down this road
so unsure the destination
i might end up lighting fires,
feel lonely, mad or try
to overthrow the government
on nights like this
the beer goes down so quickly, smooth
sometimes it’s easier to see, to feel
the addicts, the slaves
they don’t understand this process
nothing has to make sense
meaning is so arbitrary
strange words for a hungry soul
at this hour the light is
just too bright
tone it down friend, relax,
and let it go
slip into the warm boozy embrace
till it smothers you, comforts you
don’t ever tell me to stop
i can’t, i won’t
if i do, i’ll die…slow
could it be that’s what bothers me most?
the change, shifting sands
there are days when
i want them all to go away
and others when
i wish they’d never left
rum transforms me into a pirate,
tequila into a conquistador
and beer just makes me a common drunk
a philosopher without a cause
now, the goddamn beer is running strait
through me, i have to piss,
another interruption, distraction
sometimes i just have to say NO
suck in that silence for awhile
and be content with the uneasy
feeling of boredom
i knew from a young age, i think
that this is how it would all end


the friars are brewing their lonely brew
just for me perhaps, and maybe for
all the other tragic rippers
the moon…Ohh how she
conspires to get me drunk
candles are burning down now
slowly at least
this body of work should
never see the light of day
my meaning may be lost
or wasted on all of you
it’s almost better than sex
curling up with this
slight madness, a megalomania of sorts
that fire keeps burning,
dim at times, but the embers are still there
a reminder
that’s what keeps me going after all
writing has a way of
diminishing that lost feeling
the fragrance of ink, paper,
tobacco, and beer
almost feels like home
maybe it’s a cancer
a cancer of the mind
the floodgates are now open
heaven help us all
that catholic guilt is
creeping in
it seems the crickets have
conquered the birds
songs of the night are
far more dangerous
subtle and alluring
yet the sound of traffic is
making me crazy(er)
it’s all so much to take in
or let out (depending on your point of view)
but at 10 pm i feel older and,
the streets seem empty now, why?
the drunken mistress of sleep
is trying to claim me as her own
afraid to stop I am
cause then i’d be one of you
and I might dream
my dog has become content
and the cats…
they’re still watching,
that’s all they ever do
i think that they’re gods in disguise
monitoring, evaluating us
for some bigger purpose
it usually ends this way
alone and drunk
sleeping with your mask left on
and only the gods to keep you company





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