01-05-2013, 12:19 PM
I start another witless night at 4 a.m.
and then it’s hard to get the wine drunk,
to get it down to get me up.
There is nothing but a dark void
beyond the sheltering glass of my
living-room window and I’m
a deaf stare into deep space
holding a shivering bottle.
Some shards of memory flash by:
Hippopotami sashaying graciously
as lightly as their turds
on the ground of the Nile,
3 boys are staging an execution
across the street,
and when we were hot
you erupted into my face.
At 5 at night
I lay hand
on the smoke-soaked books
cramming the shelves of my library
in a somewhat comical attempt
to peruse the assembled wisdom
of my starving kind.
It’s all rather brilliant
but as always I end up
with the same sarcastic note
to my hung-over self:
Hang up the hang-ups
and never ask: why!
and then it’s hard to get the wine drunk,
to get it down to get me up.
There is nothing but a dark void
beyond the sheltering glass of my
living-room window and I’m
a deaf stare into deep space
holding a shivering bottle.
Some shards of memory flash by:
Hippopotami sashaying graciously
as lightly as their turds
on the ground of the Nile,
3 boys are staging an execution
across the street,
and when we were hot
you erupted into my face.
At 5 at night
I lay hand
on the smoke-soaked books
cramming the shelves of my library
in a somewhat comical attempt
to peruse the assembled wisdom
of my starving kind.
It’s all rather brilliant
but as always I end up
with the same sarcastic note
to my hung-over self:
Hang up the hang-ups
and never ask: why!
