Cups runneth over
and over
& over
from absinthe to zinfandel.

Men & women parade the streets
with whimsical abandoned
swaying bodies
smiling,
like they just got laid--
or are about to.

******* bathrooms roar
while marijuana balconies cackle--
even the folks staying in
have their music turned up
so nobody can hear them *******.

Barefoot indulgence
and tropical dresses flowing
in the midnight air--
even the cops don't care,
this is business.
Every whoop and hollar
is a dollar in their pocket.

Each vehicle blaires
a different song
chaos to the ears
becomes rhythm
for the body-
shots don't need to be in glasses,
grinding is the traditional greeting.

The young come for the atmosphere,
the older for the work release...
everyone is reckless on the weekend,
all the bars runneth over
and over
& over.

A ritualistic hedonism
leads to a collective sleep
that slowly, slowly
overtakes us all
as we slowly fade,
for a few hours until

Cups runneth over again
and over
& over
from absinthe to zinfandel.