Monday 3/26/2007 11:57:00 PM

This is it. The seeds I spit after chewing the melon. There was yeast in his grin as he sniffed. Wine in every conversation. A poker face in every word.

The are souvenirs. Prizes to win. From burst balloons. Yawning plastic mouths. Laughing as we kill them.

I don't want tomorrow. Don't want tonight. The wilted leaves of circumstance prying forget me's loose . Stale petticoats blossoming through unworn dresses. Effortlessly we time the decision to prove we're right.

Drowning in his Mick Jagger smiles I wondered if he knew at all how lonely he was.

If he'd ever know all that he'd lost.

RuKsaK said...

It's been a while since I've sailed through my links. I decided I needed a quick fix of something real good. That's why I came here, and I am not disappointed. That was, as expected, so good. 'yeast in his grin', 'yawning plastic mouths', 'drowning in Mick Jagger smiles.' Wow, wow and wow! I'm not sure you know how good this is. If Lou Reed, Allen Ginsberg and Raymond Chandler got together to have a genius baby with Sylvia Plath, then you are surely the offspring. Superb, truly superb.

alcoholic poet said...

nice to see you again ruk. am surprised you liked it so much. thought if you did come by i'd be chided for being too fascetious.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2018. All Rights Reserved.