--A Few Drinks--

Repeating with

The frequency

Of apologies,

"I'm not here,

This isn't happening,"

While my head

Spins, and my

Innards lurch

Like carnival

Ride children,

"I'm not here,

This isn't happening,"

The chaos,

The orderly

Passage of red

Faced spectators

Drifting through space,

Their classic attempts

To embrace and

Disengage,

Grinning at what

Can't be erased,

"I'm not here,

This isn't happening,"

Like the sound of

Hopes cast into

The depths of hell,

Glinting tokens

You can't see

Seconds after you

Drop them in,

I'm the air,

I'm the disillusionment

That lets you know

When to be scared,

The anvil in

Your gut telling you

To stop,

I am the sweat

That drips

Like morphine

Into post-mortem

Pathways through

A needle

That needs sharpening,

"I'm not here,

This isn't happening,"

This is just a test,

As they say,

It'll all be ok

Once some obese

***** wails,

The levees are stressed

And the horsemen

Idle and wait for the fail,

For the flood

Of repentance,

Of common

Indecency,

For the blood

From Ahab's whale

To initiate

The shackling

Of the sorrowfully

Undeclared,

"I'm not here,

This isn't happening."

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