***** with olives and gin craving me in
The burn can’t erase what’s bustling within

When I caught you two flushed by the door
What once again, did I come here for

Wandering about, just a little aimless
Laden with doubt, just a little senseless
Got lost downtown, just a little faithless

Fruitless love makes the time for a passion trap  
Honey lust just unwinds for tensions to snap
Admirers by the dime you mindlessly attract

But there’s nothing more unsavory than the sound
Of a heady build-up come crashing down
Lately I’ve been missing, since you aren’t around

Don’t think I haven’t heard you rustling in the sheets
I know you have a hundred more secrets to keep

Honey it’s more than just a little affair
You’re testing how much I really care

Something you will someday truly regret
While you traipse and think I’ll easily forget

Passion as it waves.
Tidal breaking in and out.
Day time and it's long night.
I dread the coming drought.

If I don't speak while in tow,
If fish don't bite,
If I don't sink below,
If I don't see the blight.

Maybe in the morning,
There'd be light,
Anyways.

Proudly he handles the bottle, bellowing about her as if she were a person

She's not fine wine, she's aged wine.
kept in the dark; alone with her thoughts
low in the earth; like a corpse
and given all the time in the world to ferment; she's rotting

Her glass is smooth you see, and cool to the touch; like the pavement on which she fell
The curves are unique to every bottle; her carcass so pretty
And the deepest green you'll ever see on a bottle; like her eyes

I have preserved her so! To keep her how she should be!
that's how he wanted to see me

She has aged well, for almost 20 years you see.
still as young as ever

But this is a special occasion; they found me
Go fetch some glasses; I can hear them digging
And we'll celebrate her.

He comes, she goes, no one every really sticks around much.
It rains, the sun bares its face, the clouds come back to steal it’s thunder.
Nothing is ever set in stone
Well, except for maybe human bones and Founding Fathers.

This is a poem I quickly threw together after I heard the line “Since when did my apartment become your watering hole of choice?” —Dan Humphery, Gossip Girl, S2:E22, 21:45-21:40. The last two lines are a play on Mount Rushmore and the setting, Founding Fathers, a bar that often appears in the hit TV Drama, Bones. In the show, Dr. Temperance Brennan, Agent Booth, and their friends often meet at FF for drinks after work. The poem is basically saying, “Nothing is certain, except alcohol and my favorite watering hole.”

Again, I **** the cigarette.
Again, I nurse the liquid fire.
Again, again, again.
I do these things again and
again, for no other reason than this:
It reminds me of him.

Order to chaos, at a glance?
As a wholesome venture, of what we pronounce
Is adding the white of the eyes, an all of influence?
Has come to the fore, and shown the doldrum it haunts...

Peace and a real thirst, for a clue in the wry...
Sated with the coming hours, of decency we meant, will
The provision of seldom, toured and biased in courteous, shyness
An angel with passion to earn and each, insists dread, still...?

A place in the heart of civility...
A face asking the table of conscience, to look for the irony
Oft tutelage and their solaces, a penny to spend on originality...
A faith in the unknown, we reveal is fright's epiphany?

Voices we have heard, that made the point of a lifetime
With range and devotion to verify, the elucidation of meagerness?
And its boding history, the total of enumeration in the face of trying?
And the fertile now, and subtle distance to weighing the opuses we elect

Alcohol and judgments character?
Instinct is a shrewd contender, for what was a world of significance
And alarmed firsts, to the longest visit of intuition, or its faring?
A method of uniqueness, to show a calm of whimsy that is a seasons chance...

Meted reasons with a clash of simplicity for you...
Tales of reproach or in defense of totals, the schemes of things
Looking the part and petition of suppose, the tear we reveal is, due
The hands of antipathy in vice and demeanor, the identity we saw, become a meaning...

I stumble recklessly through my timid thoughts
This bridled resentment destroys my conscience
Despite my intention, I ceded my morals
The morale of my virtue plummets by the second

Dissension among my synapses seethes to the surface
I am a house divided against itself
Regret lovingly entices my bloodthirsty demons
She shrugs surely with shivering shame

With my vision impaired, my dreams are soundly asleep
Kept calmly in this cavern of my cantankerous crimes
My respite is met with malice and spite
I cannot escape what these two hands have done

My distress is hidden in silence
I had already dashed my untarnished ambition
I awaken in sweat and confusion
As an empty bottle mocks me with cruel contempt...

Drunk mit dem joint,
forcing myself to write
Listening to songs I know
work me up
Feeling their message deep
I wouldn't feel
this way if it weren't another time