Randy plays the smiths
On saturdays
While I slouch against the bar
I swim in bourbon so I could
drown in you
When I die
Sell this all for a quick buck

The glass clinks
A stack of highballs lean like the drunk next to me
Red faced, nose as hard as the oak bar he’s been drinking at his whole life
He sinks into a bourbon, gurgling
"God must be a woman, because life is a *****"
Well, **** Tennyson. I'd rather never loved at all.

She said I love you
And it made me shiver
Like David, standing to
Deliver a stone that would make
Him immortal in the minds of men.
What a giant is love, that it should move me.

We've made mountains of men,
Granite statues to those that have
Risen from Death
Gold coins on their eyes
And solemn words on their chests

I love her, and feel blood pulse again.
A caress from Goliath
Till we wept.

Baby, you're a bit like the blues.
being with you is
like
a two day bourbon-binge
I’m heading
eastward down
Dauphine Street
with shakes
planning to spend a cold night
on the rocks at Woldenberg Park.

Frozen
instant
packaged
mass-produced,
my love life and meals
are embarrassingly similar.
Except, every once and awhile,
I dine out! In the spirit of the fifties!
when men were men, and cars were fast
before easy instructions, and lonely, lonely, beeps.

She asked me to get drunk
and write poems.
I've been around the Sun
Thirty times and can tell you
that love is like
reading Bukowski

And Jesus
and all of us
wept while the sun
fled west to Copernicum
With roses in her wake

She thinks of quitting
sometimes
while He washes the dishes
in suburbia
Idyllically,
the Frigidair hums.