I had been sober for
awhile and was getting that
itch to drink.
I couldn't recall the
degradation and misery of
the last drunk a few months
earlier.

It was spring, and I was standing
outside of the flophouse, I was
staying at.
Just then, a big sunflower of
a woman walked by.
"Hi Jenny," I said.
We had a past.
Not much of one though.
It resembled a Dali painting that
had been soaking in the rain.

We ended up in a motel with a
bottle of Absinthe.
Jenny wasn't much of a drinker,
No problem, more for me.
Jenny wasn't much of a
conversationalist, and half-lit on
robust *****, neither was I.
I walked around the room talking
about Hemingway and Van Gogh,
Fitzgerald and Picasso.
Jenny wasn't interested in them.
She wanted me to score her some dope.

She said, "If you want this *****, you
will buy me an eight ball."
I didn't.
I wanted to write, but I was too drunk.
We wanted different things and neither
of us
found them that night.
And later at about 3 am when I got
up to ****, I could have sworn I saw the
picture of Van Gogh on the box of Absinthe
laughing.

They think it's love, until the lust fades,
thing it's good, until the looks fade,
Think it's smart, until it hurts,
Think it's broke, until it works.

Don't begrudge children where they were born.
They don't make em the same anymore.
The curse of the new slave, wrapped around their mind,
loyal to the poison that degenerates their mind.

Things fall apart,
Breaking into slits and scars.
You miss the way it used to me,
You miss the feeling of you and me.
It's hard not to imagine how it used to be,
To stop the memories you can drink or die.

A cool autumn night.
A once bustling house, now silent.
The crack of the ice.
Warm light dancing in amber chaos.
Chaos turns to a shimmer.
Clinking slows. Stillness.
A new, anticipatory silence.
Patience.
Let it melt, just enough.
Now it's time.
Another clink breaks the silence.
The smell of oak.
The cold touch of ice.
The hedonic burn of aged grain and corn.
A gentle euphoria smoothes the edges of the world.
Contentment.

When I was
younger,
I had to learn.
Sit and wait to
write.
I  would get
impatient and force it.
If you read it,
you could tell.

Now I’m quite a bit older, and
I quit trying.
Fodder seems to be
everywhere.
I can write about
the most mundane
things.

Today I’m at the
library waiting for my
girlfriend to
finish up at the dentist.
She’s getting her
teeth cleaned.
All my drinking ruined
my teeth.
When I got them
pulled a year ago,
there wasn’t a
healthy tooth in my head.
I have dentures now, so
I don’t have to
worry about how much I drink.
I know this isn’t a
good poem, but
hey,
there she is
all shiny and bright…
and sober.

If it comes out the tap,
I'm drinking it.
Whatever is public.

If we can't at least guarantee clean water,
Who are we?

If you think I'm only talking about one thing,
I'm sorry.

If it shouldn't bother you,
Does it?
Why do different?
Why worry?
Like a fly buzzing,
Best just to ignore it.
Swat it!
Stamp it!
Crush it!

I am drowning in the bubbles that my father introduced me to.
sipping on things I never should have known about
at such a young age

I am genuinely scared about my very existence.
I am so, so exhausted.

I drink until my eyes blur and the world spins.
Then when I wake up
I am still tired.

bubbles.

what a funny concept...

tiny little spheres

floating

in the sips of drinks I should not have.

Tea is a colorful drink,
It comes in many different shades.
White Tea,
Sweet and delicate, brewed from the fragrant flowers of the tea tree.
Black Tea,
Strong and simple, a firm hand to lift you up from bed.
Green Tea,
Earthy and natural, weather or not the leaves or fired or steamed.
The Tea from my Grandmother's ***,
Beautiful and delicate, imprinting upon you like fresh snow on the roads of Boston.

Fine china is pressed to my lips.
offering a moment of sweet bliss,
as soothing warmth envelopes me
and my troubles start to fade.

Slowly sipping my cup of tea,
I find all is as it should be,
and clarity slowly emerges
putting my mind at ease.

I enjoy this relaxing remedy,
in this comforting serenity,
with a smile and a sigh
I find Positivi-tea.

©️Lizzie Bevis