It's just a
matter of
clever simplicity
or
simple clevericity
said I to she
It's more a
question of
earnest felicity
and
abstract electricity
said she to me
though we both
could agree
*******
is
*******
however masked
implicitly

1.5 oz Bulleit Rye
0.5 oz Gallo Extra Dry Vermouth
0.25 oz Mezzetta Olive Juice
3 dashes Angostura Bitters
Stir with
3 cold Mezzetta Garlic Stuffed Olives
on a Frankie's swizzle

Drink this and remember me
It is the depth of my sorrow
The shallowness of my pain
The blood of my anger
My testament
Bear witness
to the sins of my father
Writ in the ugliness of me
Drink this and shudder
It is my undoing
The unraveling of light
A consummation of the dark

Drink this and remember me

suffocating and suffocated
under the weight
of my own failure
to recognize
that which
was
right
the
****
in front of me

great
life is great

the cold
reality
of a painted wall
usually just a blur
in the backvision
but sometimes
you look close
focus
see the chips
the old paint jobs
the smudges
the stains
and sundry
ad nauseam
shadowed light
texturing
the otherwise
inert
to show
fiery grotesque
demons
wings ablaze
or malicious eyes
watching
what those eyes
may have seen
may best
to have been
lost
to history
perhaps
the best
are
wonder which
are not
fights
drunken pleas
bad ***
sad ***
no ***
sleepless nights
certainly a lot of
ESPN
perhaps
perhaps this
is the
last place
I will ever
sleep

I miss her
Where did she go
Her voice
The calm
Her glow
The sway of her hips
Hypnotic and slow
A classic bit of
to and fro
I assume we all eventually
took our toll
Too many wanted a piece
Just a little too much of
her soul
Wore her thin
Blocked her magic
Devoured her flow
I hope she's happy out there
Maybe somewhere
in the snow
Strange to
miss someone you don't
really know
I just miss her
sometimes
That's all I
really know

I'm tired
of those nights
staring out behind
my eyelids
across the cold horizon
of reality
The bleakness of a future
dying twilight
twinkling
at the break
Nothing but
impossible choices
and hard truths
breaking the visage
Thoughts of tomorrow
and eternity
intertwined
like
Dark Lovers
screaming
the ecstasy of a
shared doom
in their embrace
on the distant shore
The reverberations
of their
passion
ricocheting
through my skull
in a constant dull
hum
Christ
that **** really *****

I dreamt he sent
a care package
A shabby box
filled with
wall sconces
from his
******* apartment
half filled tablets
thoughts and doodles
with a note
to not abuse
substances
and a really nice
vinyl pressing of
some nineties
spoken word piece
with one or
another unknown
ska
alt rock
grunge
band
That sure was nice
of him
I must have
sent some good
psychic *****
Spirits
they call it