whiskey in the evening

I remember whiskey in the evening,
Clear and concise,
With just enough room at the top,
To follow the virtue or discipline in
Preserving for the next night’s sitting.

I remember Mersault and the Sun,
And reading under the sun,
So easy it was to be irrational,
And find it all meaningful.

And I remember Raskolnikov -
His theory of the Extraordinary -
And mimicking the drawn-out mumblings
Of a disgruntled consciousness.

I remembering reading:
Being an Optimist without Hope,
Bearing that chain around my neck,
Or finding salvation,
Through the mutterings
Of the Underground Man.

All so exciting and promising,
To an eager mind
As “Steet Spirit” would fade
Into the walkman in my mind.

the squishy balloon

Get the hell off of my cherry!
What? What?
You must have misunderstood me…
Passion, art, fetish, fancy, all consenting.
What? I’m no better than a thief?
(you caught me peaking, so I’m the dirty one?)
I won’t run, or let you alone,
(un-protective) of your moonstone.
Oh, I just want to see you blow:
Blow blue, blue orange, blow cherry.
Soft skin wrapped in desperation
Fie! Around that squishy balloon -
Pure, silky, pale - Until it blows!
Red, blood-red, and the blood-red drapes.
In the House of Fidelity
In the flat of the burglary -
And on the sheets!
Inhale, exhale, and deep panting:
Blow in and blow out, up and down,
Work with it and it’s expanding...
like it’s elastic. But the skin...
And when it blows we will all go,
Come together, as though we’re one.
We’re done, we rest easy
(exhaling smoke seductively).
The skin remains in misery,
A scarlet stigmatized wretch,
Too far gone to contract -
Consent after consent,
Contract! God dammit,
The skin remains a wench.

Daily Failings

I have trouble functioning daily in society,
on my feet, disgruntled discretely.
Faux pas and mispeaks,
(coming undone)
awkward and neurotic,
unstep half-steps repeated;
lulling and silent
solemnly:
the sullen king sulking,
insecure and uneasy,
smiling inconvienently.
Handshakes, although not weak -
Eyes estraying...
A tone
meager and for the meek.
(Not Failure, just daily failing.)
At least I didn't have a drink.