ERN MALLEY AT THREE A.M.
I
am nailed down to the bar with tequila shots,
in
the gilt loneliness of the nightclub.
I’m
marinating my liver in margaritas.
Below
the diaphragm I am paté.
The
dance music is like my mother’s
heartbeat
in the womb. Meanwhile you,
poor
drowning soul, are drunk, deaf drunk,
hopelessly
stone-cold dead drunk.
I
never heard the builders come. Already
these
walls have risen high around me.
I’m
swimming across a threshold
and
choking on a night full of stars.
Comments
Post a Comment