"pabsts" poems
we went to Little Blue
that summer in a bum'd car.
riding in extravagance
we couldn't afford.
camping in the Oklahoma ozarks,
we brought liquor. the two of us
drank a half-litre honey whiskey
and twenty-eight of thirty Pabsts.
your chick only nab'd two.
we were sunk from that point on.
i vomit'd behind the car, and
there were left retched handprints.
left were a phantom's handprints,
having been drown'd by their hedonism.
the bikers partied along
with us apart from us.
they ask'd to use our hatchet,
that's the way we met.
men share tools, and that was
the only instance of civility
for two days. we ran feral.
rip'd shirt to ribbons,
wrap'd them 'round a stick,
soak'd citronella,
commenced adventure.
returning,
two hours time gone;
returning,
scratch'd and bleeding;
returning,
we lit their paths with
torch burning a primal fire;
sleep,
pass'd out by fire in lounge chair.
been in this spot before,
knew to bring a quilt
and mine was the only one.
startled awake,
fire nothing more than nightlight embers.
raccoon, sitting upright,
stared from his high perch of a picnic table.
apple in paws, nibbling,
he mock'd and monitor'd.
i swiped at it with a stick,
missed. said **** it.
slept in the car that night.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 7:23 AM UTC
Road trip out to the coast
it'd been a long while
and I hadn't seen you.
So why not
plot a course out westward
and get away a couple days.
I was over being over it all
And you were sick of your ****** boyfriend.
So we packed and got in your new car
and spent the next few days in Portland.
Well, life's a fuckin' drag
when all you've got are
loan debts and frustration
At least there's
bad jokes and good scenery
and long drives on I-90 West.
I wanna drive that road with you again
I wanna drive that road with you again
I wanna drive that road with you again
I wanna drive that road with you.
We spent a day beneath a Bridgetown sky,
walked through the city with Jen and Erin,
got drunk on Pabsts for a dollar-fifty each
at the Star Bar, 'cuz we were talkin'
about
how folks are mostly lame
but can be cool if
they get half a chance to.
About our
stupid, funny habits--
it was the greatest day of my year.
We were over being over it all;
sorta tired of feeling kinda jaded.
Then the sun set over Oregon
and you and me and Jen and Erin.
We hopped on a city bus and you
were kinda drunk and acting pretty crazy.
As my stomach kicked from laughing hard,
I remember I just kept thinking
that
I wanna ride this bus with you all night
I wanna ride this bus with you all night
I wanna ride this bus with you all night
I wanna ride this bus with you.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
They say falling in love is not easy, but all it takes is a shot glass glance, and no sooner than later you’ll look at her profile in the dim light, and you’re in love.
Everything then becomes crimsoned, not because you are in a pub,
but rather because it is the shade of passion,
love.
And no sooner than now, you are dreaming of throwing your hands beneath her dress,
and thinking of mouthing, “I love you” from your eyes, to hers.
But no, she does not walk up to you, and you feel that the stereotypical misconception of a woman never making the first move, is true.
This is a man’s work, you tell yourself, dubiously forgetting what too lies between your legs, is nothing that of a man.
You’re intoxicant now, perhaps from the four Pabsts you've downed because you’re cheap and cool,
and you are incoherently waltzing
on over to her, and of course she smiles,
either because you look like an idiot,
or because she is charmed.
You cup your hands on her face.
The skin is soft, she says nothing,
but feels warm.
This is not love. You’re just drunk.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 6:54 AM UTC