I wish I could drink like a lady
I can take one or two at the most
Three and I'm under the table
Four and I'm under the host

COME gather round me, Parnellites,
And praise our chosen man;
Stand upright on your legs awhile,
Stand upright while you can,
For soon we lie where he is laid,
And he is underground;
Come fill up all those glasses
And pass the bottle round.

And here's a cogent reason,
And I have many more,
He fought the might of England
And saved the Irish poor,
Whatever good a farmer's got
He brought it all to pass;
And here's another reason,
That parnell loved a lass.

And here's a final reason,
He was of such a kind
Every man that sings a song
Keeps Parnell in his mind.
For Parnell was a proud man,
No prouder trod the ground,
And a proud man's a lovely man,
So pass the bottle round.

The Bishops and the party
That tragic story made,
A husband that had sold hiS wife
And after that betrayed;
But stories that live longest
Are sung above the glass,
And Parnell loved his countrey
And parnell loved his lass.

fall into love with me
and we'll fall out together
jump into love with me
and we'll fall forever

What are we so scared of?
We are just bags of blood and bones,
in a rotating assembly line,
hanging side by side
smacking against each other
as lightly as possible,
so as not to puncture
our delicate vessels.
Don't we know?
Words are what
spill our guts.

Earth is rocking in space!
And the thunders crash up with a roar upon roar,
And the eddying lightnings flash fire in my face,
And the whirlwinds are whirling the dust round and round--
And the blasts of the winds universal leap free
And blow each other upon each, with a passion of sound,
And æther goes mingling in storm with the sea!
Such a curse on my head, in a manifest dread,
From the hand of your Zeus has been hurtled along!
O my mother's fair glory! O Æther, enringing
All eyes with the sweet common light of thy bringing,
Dost see how I suffer this wrong?

seconds
     ticking
          tick-tick
    flip-flop
         ti-
             tick-
                  ticking.
poking     at      me,
c o a x i n g me
        to move:
stand up, get out, be, hear, see, do,
everything's right in front of you!

those two
        idle hands
                
should be crafting a cat's cradle of cathartic creation…

but easy comfort
         in apathetic

                                                               ­ nothing,
in slowly
         being e n v e l o p e d
cuddled back into, back into, back into my bed of
                                                                ­                                        blank…
slate, blank mind, blank hands.
blankets covering a blank stare at a blank ceiling.
smothering the murmurs
of the matador
in
     my
          chest,
I  s  l  i  d  e  into a hazy half-dream.
the light slips past,
going home with the sun
and listening to
lunar lullabies,
I
         sigh & hum
              slinking
                            into yawns
excusing myself for d r a g g i n g
        tiredness
                     pulling on   my   strings.

sinking,
       sinking
                   into sulking.
staying
        to sit
                 in sadness,
                                            sinking.
tic­king
       ticking
                   t i c k i n g
TOCK

the blocking of
      my eyes,
             ears,
                 hands,
                      feet,
                          heart
stymied by my own will.
and it will
continue
      for
             e t e r n i t i e s
of absolutely
                   arbitrary
                               nothing.

expect for cookies.
I will pledge my honor to soak up all sweetness so that my bones might
      rot
          faster,
             sinking,
                 weighting,
                       wearing,
                          tearing,
                                        s
                                           i
                                              n
                                                 k
                                                    i
          ­                                            n
                                                         g
                                                              .­

spiraling out faster,
                                              sinking
into another
                                               sinkhole
black void of destruction
                                              *******
the color
the dimension
of
me
into the next bed
                                             dungeon
for sleep,
dreaming of
                                             sinking:
plummeting past plumes of poisoned plum trees
plop perched atop an immobile glass-sealed sea
yet,

I
        sink
                     in –
                                            apathy.

does your mind ever wander to me?
flash visions of my face
across the inside of eyelids
movies of slow motion embrace.

                                                       ­                                    do you hear my voice?
                                                          ­                         moan and giggle and hum,
                                                            ­             whisper profanities into your ear
                                                     and beat the pace of your chest's bass drum.

do your fingers feel my ghosting skin?
brush across those calloused tips
sliding closer, slinking clarity
calamity coincides with conscious choice,
i clutched the corners of certain collapse
clinging to clumsily curtained clues.
crawling cat claws over a carcass.

                                                       ­                  do you remember the very start?
                                         the moment when one of us - i'm still not sure who
                                                             ­     leaned in too close to the other's face
                                                            ­                and sealed the unspoken space
                                                           ­                                       with a deadly kiss
                                                            ­                             which dropped the rain
                                                            ­                                 which broke the dam
                                                             ­                             which released torrents
                                                        ­                            that had been held leaking
                                                         ­                               by tense bones creaking.

and when you gazed into my
melted honey eyes
with you piercing black pupils
and earnestly said:
"they were all mistakes,
but not you -
you
are not
a mistake",
were you lying through your teeth?
did the tumbling
kiss
that followed
seal your deceit?
grasping for my puppet strings
to dance me to your beat,
fog my mind with steam heat
to save your ego from defeat.

                                                        ­                                         i gallantly applaud
                                                         ­                     your flagrant charade darling,
                                                        ­                                                though flawed,
                                                         ­                                    your mask of interest
                                                        ­                             fooled me to blindly trust
                                                           ­                                              and helplessly
                                                                ­                                                            fall
                                                                ­                        into a bed made of rust,
                                                           ­                     glass promises, and folk lore
                                                            ­                              of men who transform
                                                       ­                                       in the womb of love.

does the last night haunt you
stuck on repeat
below the surface?
                                                        ­           do my words float through dreams
                                                                                 ghosting over melting trees
                                                                                       fleeting sinking feeling?
does your running
tug at you,
ripping loose seams?
                                                          ­   and did you feel the weight of my heart
                                                           ­                               as you denied my truth
                                                           ­                      and our harmony fell apart?

i feel i knew from the very start
that this would simply bring
seven layers of pain,
broken nails twisted into my brain.
but hammering down loose memories
and painting over fantasies,
won't cure the disease that sprouted in me.
i crave the impossible,
insanely desire to hold onto those who run.
i surely cursed the sun,
when i turned nocturnal
to answer your cicada phone calls,
because though i have returned to the daylight,
the blight of night-vision
engulfs me,
and i can only see your love's excision
and the remnant debris.