Tuesday, October 23, 2012


Who is he with trouble?
Who is he with deep grief?
Who is he with quarreling wife and children?
Who is he who has a file full of customer reports?
Who is he who wakes with unexplained bruises?
Whose eyes are bloodshot?

Those who sit and stare at an empty glass,
Who long for the next cocktail

Gaze not at the crimson bitterness,
Nor the way the light dances on it
Don’t even consider how
It pours, again and again, from the bottle

Before the night is done,
You’ll be hypnotized
And hugging a toilet!

You’ll wander through hallucinations
You’ll say things to later regret
(perhaps even heresies and blasphemies)
You’ll want to sleep with the fishes
Or swing from chandeliers,
Shouting at the top of your lungs,

"I’m beaten and kicked,
but I’m not hurt!
Ha ha! Bring it on!
Barkeep, a round for all my friends!"

Then you’ll awake to find yourself alone,
Wondering how you’ll pay for tomorrow’s six-pack

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