Monday, November 8, 2010

Drunk Bitches

Let this not sound like impartial commentary-
I want so badly that these thoughts will live past tonight,
so make my words scream!

I’m leaving my goddamn trail,
my sack of memories through this impossible asshole time.
If I only feel accidentally that I’ve written that before, forgive me-
But fuck! I ask forgiveness of anyone!
Someone’s poet of a son is yelling:
“If one day I rot, I’ll rot spitefully!”
Hollering rats, literates can be scum too.

How do I know that I have a hold on those few that matter to me?
If they all fall to grey bits,
memories among dust,
old beer, and dead ants,
and I’m still here? That’s terrifying.

But yet?
How I am a perpetual slave
or better, smirking occupant to-
the alone.
Do I crave it or does it call to me?
Is she the siren or am I?
This sort of thinking is dangerous.

This warmth seems viral-

It’s strange validation through other peoples’ parents,
strange being of a generation when I try to poeticize the concept of the ‘drunk bitch’-

All these slamming doors and screaming fuckers!
GODDAMN! It’s all so exciting, really!
Laugh because nothing’s too late if you play at it right.