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Posts Tagged ‘Alcohol’

Her whiteness, illuminated by a motion sensor light
stood out in the darkness
with all the fragility of a lighting bolt in the sky.
Fit among the stars and moon
if not fit among the beach by day
she pined for the cold embrace
and weightlessness of water.
Unpreparedness, if not several champagne flutes,
had delivered the opportunity
to escape the buzzing well-lit hive
carved into the cliff and the ability to
shorten a quick expanding bucket list.
She lingered on the ebbing proscenium
with a spot light at her back.

The fabric of the loudness that kept her away,
the crudeness that undermined expectations,
and the tight fitting pomposity she knowingly confused for confidence
are shed and casting shadows on her footprints.
Finally alone, she doesn’t see me.
Tucked in the folds of her dress, the shadows on the beach,
the overlapping waves silently applauding
as she, the thunder, breaks
the rolling foamy waves
with a joyous jump.

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Estuarine

Despite pride, promise, and prejudice
of those whom she liked and disliked
she had somehow settled into
a world where name tags are professional attire.
In the mirror the letters can be ignored “nagaL reviR”
and over the gentle rushing sounds
of an exhaust fan in the bathroom
she can still hear the microwave’s revolutions.
Micro dinner. Micro apartment. Micro sounds.

It is not far from A to B for her
yet the dense kudzu
of possessions untamed
forces a dance into the simplest
of travels. The microwave chirps
in completion. A bowl of brackish soup –
the treasures of which hide
beneath its thick surface.

She eats standing up
with begging cats at her feet
and the dream of a pair of assistants
fighting for attention.
“Ms. Lagan, your briefs are prepared”
“Ms. Lagan, your appointment is here.”
“Ms. Lagan, you are effortlessly amazing at what you do
how can I be more like you.”

She could dream like this for only brief moments.
Then feed the cats.
Then go to work.
Then come home.
Feed the cats.
Drink Wine.
Go to bed.
Do it again.

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Hung Over

The last fleeting memories
like leftover half-opened beers
are collected for recycling.
Residue of revelry
sticks to the table
soaking yesterday’s news
with sepia tones
like the faux wanted posters
we made in grade school
and stained with mother’s tea bags.
Reward 30 silver pieces
for salvation from
my own bad decisions.

I stand to let my perception
orbit my mind
strange queasy loops
made visible by the drinking
caused by the thirst
of my tongue,
caused by the hunger
of my stomach,
caused by the removal
of my food,
caused by the failures
of my mind,
caused by the God
of my heart,
the God of my feelings,
the God of my neediness,
my fragility, and my insecurity.
Caused by the emptiness
of my last drink.

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16% Oxygen

She wears the scarf she made,
waits tapping her toes
in tune with music,
outside the bar she works at.
A city fire is the setting sun
feeding on cold night air.
Breathing is visible
in her chest
and exiting from her lips.

Fingertips twist a helix
into her hair
filaments of a light bulb
black as carbon.
The whites of her eyes
alternate quickly
blue, red, white
in rhythm to the arriving emergency
vehicles.

The soundtrack of the bar
is Paul Simon
a smile crosses her face,
ten minute breaks are
never so breath taking.
Snow banks store memories
of the winter.
Salt rimmed jeans of strangers
passing by remind her of head
on imported beers and wax collecting
around the edges of a candle.
They await her.
She exhales and enters before goose bumps
form on her skin.

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Ours are the only lights in downtown Worcester
Electricity is a fragile touch at 40 miles an hour.
These are the nights of youth for young inventors
With drinks and smiles, like us, and the three ladies at the bar.
Simplicity is the power to resist holding tongues,
to ignore ethical necessity, to allow change to rout
the phalanx of lightless office buildings. We’re the ones
made of stories, eyes of hallow grounds, we’re figuring out
distance means being flightless in our feelings and honesty
means being selective with our sounds

Our night was filled with worlds of swirling smoke,
poetry if not honesty, and memories that fade like city lights.
Ash falls on our outfits, burning from our cigars as we spoke
about health nuts who would never live thru these Worcester nights
with any sanity or soul. We talk about where we’d rather be;
Israel, Germany, Florence (with a lady sleeping next to me) –
But mostly we talk about going back in time and just doing this more often.
Outside, a different building, a different person, a different whole watches
through eyes without curtains too dark to see.They count off
ten orange cones marking a different route home. In their subconscious
they’ll recall 3 men exiting a bar who entered as boys at a birthday party.
Their shared victory would be timeless as they drove back in the dark.

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Last night I kissed his mistress
Once, on the lips, in silence.
I thought I might’ved missed his distress
as he’d feel her hips, in violence.
She took me for a spin
To feel warmth, to forget
The look of him or from within
When his hand was around our necks.

She wasn’t there for the intervention
Intoxication drips, he’s sober now.
Friends, created by my own imagination,
show off my bruised body, his brow
Arching at how he had fell.
I bottled my fear and my anger, into one,
this thing I call myself.
The person she made me become.

Last night I kissed her again
Two long sips, a numb alliance
drowning in Manhattan,
For only a moment, I forgive his reliance.
Together we spin, spin, spin,
and feel warmth, and forget
the look of him, red with sin
with our hands around his neck.

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