strange waves.

this drink doesn't taste like blood or alcohol.

a small collection of poems on booze.
[contextual coordinates: 3-3:15pm, 3:30-3:40, rain, an unenjoyable drink i don't know why i tried, in a boombox]

 1.

dainty flowers losing

color in grey

they will die soon

anyway

2.

terrible drinks
bitter.sweet
those fruity for
thirsty whens except

2s.

id know when you didnt see me cant you

but when did you or well thats the book i read

at the sight of fires in forests at christmas

it couldnt have been much worse what are you

talking about still this isn't quite coherent

well cohesive is what i meant to say but yes

its now just a good benefit to be messy

and not think? oh well yes exactly

lets not get complacent now

oh no why would we do that we aint going

to reveal our trix no more 
no they arent for kids

 

3.

a ballroom pianist

stumbles to the seat

and mumbles some notes

with his broken hand

in his awkward posture

he plays

until the chords bend

in such unfamiliar ways

that he falls into a trance

and is asked to dance

4.

his veins are bursting

with pixie-stix powder

he's so high on sugar

i'm not sure if he could scream any louder

5.

a

burning tongue

with water flowing under it

no i would not like

to swallow this sip

of blood wine

6.

“so here is my thought,”

said brain, looking important

“happiness comes from altering

your perspective on death.”

heart took one glance behind her

and ran for her dear life

for she did not want to be

looking at death

at such a weird angle.

7.

after being invaded for what seemed like a century

president ghost took a vacation to the inner-city cemetery

8.

in the end

a mouth comes to swallow you up

at first you seem content

in this large blackhole

but soon you get sucked

to your death

down below.

but one day you will come

and see the light of day

once again

(only to be drowned). 

theme:

ritual gaze

love-blood

drunk for

remembrance

of humble death