wake up on the other
side of noon, bottle of
whiskey within grasp.
start sluggin'. who needs
today. water runs in
slow patterns through
arteries, woodwork,
some stranger's teeth.
rain runs inside of
me, coalescing, cold,
pure. washing away
the troubles of yesterday
in exchange for this
new sky. it still
looks the same. in
exchange for this day's
melancholia: it will
persist and hang,
a fog to stumble on
below. a tired footstep,
to spurn dreams where
there's something else
here. to hide from
the nothingness that
falls in fat drops from
potential.