Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Rides Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Wednesday 1/31/2007 11:53:00 PM

We dog paddled through the conversation. Asides to the audience at every pause. Short grass relented to the frost. The bed with its lips curled back in a growl that always asked when the new carnival is coming. The pillows singing. Spinning. A ferris wheel of strangers loping through a slow rotation of sex.

You must be this tall to ride.

You must be this old to get off.

There in the long queue we met. Grabbing at new deliriums with shaky fingers. Looking up together at the altitude. The preposterous premise that the greater height you fall from the sweeter the impact.

You must be my friend to become my lover. But it's only an estimate. Since I've never really had either one.


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