#absinthe
A billiard table imprints its damp shadow
on a yellow wooden floor. The game still
unbegun, mere fragment of the sorrow
felt by the patrons whose wilted heads will
still be here tomorrow, if tomorrow comes.
Red walls distended by burning lamps
and burned out hearts beating blood through ear drums:
Reverie to the night god / Dreaming tramps
drowning in their heads in lakes of absinthe
color of the ceiling better than being
awake but indefinitely absent.
The lamps blink, eyes floating, speak all-seeing:
Vincent, let us meet before you entreat
the crows out of your head into the wheat.
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 10:33 AM UTC
Soft, green vortex, beckoning
tender brush of eyelashes on skin
The lush hue of May looms
on butterfly wings
Fleeting as a sigh
and faint your fragrance
Of feline grace your footing
and elvenkind your posture
leaves
the wish to dive
beneath the surface
to touch more than skin
My mind is ablaze, with clumsy
step I attempt the dance
am bound to trip
to burn the moths, you beckon
A hot sensation
rolling down my throat
You fill this night to the brim
and I drink in full
Gazing into the eyes of my Absinthe.
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
With a fly across my lips, your paisley wall,
Like the interior of a chandelier,
Floats like a cartoon span sporadically
Into motion.
Commotion, as the grimmoire that observes
Every moment as they occur,
cauldron that stirs the blood
Through the vein, is broken free.For a moment
The sky was loose, we were free and we were floating;
But now we watch as insects dawn our skin
And dismantle our presence.
My hand spirals the green neck of the bottle
That splits us, departing our lips indefinitely,
And you intercept to top your own glass first.
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 8:19 PM UTC
The absinthe was poured
Soon thirst will be quenched
The water then added
The green fairy did change
So my brain could be drenched
And my mind would derange
What was peridot green
Is now most opaline
The fennel and anise
Are present indeed
But the taste of the wormwood
Is the flavor I need
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 2:35 PM UTC
16 miles and change,
26,000 steps
end with the ten
to the absinthe bottle
and back to bed,
dizzy with heartbreak.
I spent years
trying to change,
but I am more myself
than ever before.
The truth slips
over my neck.
My eye is dark.
Absinthe vanishes
from the glass
smooth as vapor.
She invited
my deepest hurts
so I gave them
in cries that
sunk into her
shoulder blade,
more than I've
given to anyone.
Time is a broken floe,
drifting and cold.
I am more myself
than ever before.
I wish I wasn't,
Oh god I wish
I wasn't.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 12:08 AM UTC
Sweet green alchemy!
Let’s drink to forget the pain,
Love’s absence and strife.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 6:05 PM UTC
#
The blood in the bottle usurped
the blood in my veins
I love you I burped
but it was in vain
You're drunk again
why do you cause this pain
it's fuel for my pen
and I cannot abstain
I guess I am weak
with no self control
with a future so bleak
and a shriveled dried soul
It fills the page
can't you see,
it fills your rage
and that's fine with me
Today you left for good
so I bought a new notebook
and a bottle of wormwood
laid out in a small nook
Watch as these pages like feathers
fly off in the wind
lets get back together
so I can do this again
#
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 3:03 PM UTC
The memory of your lips, stained in a stubborn
shade of November is my favorite affliction.
Frosted absinthe dripped from your tongue,
spilling from those November lips, forming the words
which fertilized the garden of my anxieties.
In the nocturne of my imagination, past the perennials
of blue memory, I still nurture an orchid of deep
reverence for the irreparable manner in which
we damaged each other.
I endeavor to tend to this garden, to finally take care
of it. Of me. But all I manage to do is **** out my confidence,
settling for the deeply rooted progress of paralysis.
I regret letting you drink from my cup.
Absinthe did not mix well with the curve of your complexity.
When it spilled, I watched it drip from your mouth,
knowing, with no uncertainty, that you would slither into my mind.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 2:30 PM UTC
In this downpour of
nil a blinding fog descended
and a venomous,
absinthe-mindedness wrapped all
over me, thus all of my
senses were out of order.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
It is an ancient Poet
and he stoppeth me.
“Beware of poetry, my son,
She’s a gold digger.
She’ll chew you up and spit you out,
leave you penniless and lying in a gutter,
drunk on absinthe,
while the rich novelists and scriptwriters
step over you, laughing.”
“Hold off! unhand me, greybeard loon!”
Unheeding, I slunk off to my garret
to compose a villanelle,
heavily derivative of Dylan Thomas.
I only wanted to get girls,
but before I knew it
I was roaming with the Romantics,
bopping with the Beats
and cruising with the Classicists.
Popping some Pope, shooting some Stevie Smith
or hitting up Heaney,
I was hopelessly addicted.
And I never did get the girl.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
We speak, or rather you spoke
I listened
You'll be fine, you'll do great
You've got so much going for you
I never understood why you said that
Maybe just placating
Weary little broken boy toy me
What good was I, could hardly speak
Or look at faces, just shoes
All shame rotting away
In death trap little future overdose room
More ***** than brain
Felt skin sloughing off
Hair falling out dead anyway
While cancer ate away ulcerous stomach
When looked in mirror
Only saw death, reaving reaper
His scythe my smashed absinthe bottle
****** X marks the spot where
I drag everyone down with me
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
old hunger makes us sick
forget who we are and
where we're going
how to see thru fog
how to pierce the sky
where's the truth in all this
mustard gas and lies
translucent silken shadows of people
wishy washy wistful thinking like
'o look at big sophisticated words dribbling across page - verbal *****
great philosopher all expression and
thought purge speaking in a vacuum'
petulant little lines for liar's lurid heart
petty little fines growing large from the start
what is this point you speak of and how do we get there
if it is really about the journey and not the destination
then can i get off right now
or
can i be seal eye headlight hi beams
is there trust enough left between us two
to go on down this road together
or part ways at lightning fork in path
no
i go into petrified forest bog
to hide and melt and decompose
bucolic rot under stalwart stoic onlooking trees
you go to riches, glory, ******* and now sprouting planted seeds
misgivings all forgotten like
irreverent, irrelevant childish deeds
and
i grow bitter and ferment
starving gut absinthe
filled with frozen wormwood lies
like Poe and de Quincy and all the rest
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC