Live
a life on a whisky heart
Kaleidoscope
movements across acid cut glass.
Drinkers
capsize in the finger dulled jars.
An
educational refugee
far
from the love of home,
caught
up, in a whirlpool's dragging spin.
All
welcomed here,
Anonymous
and known,
within
this home, of brass stained freedoms.
Her
smile,
behind
the zinc mile,
is
knowing and hopeful so.
The
first all day directed to me,
and
for once,
I am
not sunken away with my thumb flick evasion.
My
comfort now,
is
self induced and self contaminated.
I
could live a life on a whiskey heart,
and
call in sick
to
the Monday mornings of responsibilities.
To
feel a little escape from this massing of days,
these
black weather moods of nothings.
Oh
too drink on,
for
an hour or two.
Caught
in faux dreaming
of
what I still regard home.
Left
for progress, now so blush in mind.
That
truer life, rejected by youth,
would
so appease my fractured run,
of
all my nothings, of this modern bite.
Another
whiskey clink.
The
bitter peat sting.
Another,
And
one more.
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