Sunday 10/07/2007 01:15:00 AM

Little orphans of God. In bloated knapsacks. Decision just a grin. All the empty sneakers. Tongues on the carpet licking songs I'd bought long ago, but hadn't heard till now. Pimples from the face of saviors paint the mirror. Eyes like dominoes. Stand.

Waiting to fall.

I won't be saved that way. Surrendering everything. Isn't that what I already am?

People. An economy of submission. Little orphans of God work their puzzles in pieces of pieces. I'm broken. Assemble me. I'm lost. Come seek me. I'm naked. Dress me up. I'm drunk. And sober is all I can remember of you.

In lives obese with truth we starve on the lies. Little thunderstorms too shy to play in the mud they've made. Watch.

Condoms left on the floor divide the room into choices. Tall glasses of unsweetened lemonade rape the ice in our drinking glasses. But I'm too thirsty to care how it tastes.

Too tired to argue with anymore gods.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.