ok ok
so the bourbon is only as good as it stays down.
for all the reasons of sedintary waste nothing so much as
hints at how desperate a troubled thought will stray.
even as old friends and family meet in one harmonious
conversation pound for pound logic and hope deserts
you because these people, these chess pieces that make
up your life
suddenly don't see you but these thoughts,
these words, like whiskey spewed from a wretched stomach
because everything vile and violent justifies itself in a blaze
of half-digested glory
and the holy, the good pure folly swishes cruelly like so much
stomach acid.
down below it is only the illusion or delusion of guilt which
keeps milk flowing from the tits of sallow mothers whose only
goal flows from the hollow sacks they call their life,
their contempt sodomizes all and justifies nothing.
