I’m a dirt bag in sunglasses
With my mind in a castle
Watching the sunrise
Crystal bottle of gin
Too many memories
I’d forgotten to renew
Washed off in tap water
Read it all by candlelight
And a mattress with a bed sheet.
Tag: gin
She Sings (day 1947)
I feel out the back on your bones
Waking with two shades my tones
Night was once again
In my left ear to my right.
Swimming in leftover gin
Where I’m counting every bone
That my tracing can’t leave alone
And I’m the middle of every song.
One Armed Row (day 1684)
Night’s fog had rolled on in
Long voyage to harbour – land ho!
Land at last for this ragged show.
Three fog horns led our fearless captain –
A man too honest for sailor’s gin,
All the way to One Armed Row.
Choicest of ales, where great seamen go,
And also toiled our captain’s sin.
She smiled at all who crossed the hearth:
Fodder for jealous types stuck out in open sea;
Mirth for all at One Armed Row.
Our captain, pure soil of the earth,
Led his men, each as anxious as he
To find what seeds they each could sow.
Flat e (day 1215)
There’s an undercurrent of pressure
Rolling around like two dollars
In a drunk-night saloon.
I’m making headway on flesh insight
With no time to spare.
Gin’s hovering around
Whispering sweet nothings in my ear
And two dollars keep talking to me.
Two dollars.
Two lone shooting guns
Winking at me from the corner of the room.
I’m lost in a swimming pool
And walking down main street
Whistling a sad song to a lover
Who’s missing from my arm tonight.
It’s a long walk fishing out these memories
With my flat E ringing through
Cobblestones and lampshades,
Dubious shadows I’m not stopping to
Make friends with.
Two dollars.
I’ve made my peace here tonight.
My undercurrent of pressure
Hanging low with the full moon
That’s grabbing at my coattails
As I make my way toward the exit sign.