Tag Archives: bar

Does The City Sleep If Everyone’s Awake?

Drop every pretense, drown every sense you own
For the girl that you love, girl you loathe
Insistent pretext, so what does that make god?
To the girl that you love, girl you loathe…

~*~

Follow home the darkness in the midst of distorted lies

A bellicose pretence that overshadows the most jaded of eyes

Entering, surrendering the only control left to be held back

Indignant morose affability surreptitiously painted black

.

For the girl that you love left her heart in the shadows

She’s keeping it there locked tight and burning the evidence

And the boy of your dreams has a nightmare in his head

He keeps a musket under his pillow for such a circumstance

.

Secrets dripping at the tip of their tongue, are you getting tired

Ain’t it so pretty, the way their drunken minds are wired?

The curtain’s coming down, but the burlesque act continues

And the naked audience and all the masked actors are in on the ruse

.

The flickering streetlamps may not last until the end of sunset

And you may have lost your empty wallet stumbling in a cabaret

Taking profound philosophies from barkeeps, pouring another drink

Don’t know if that sleaze three tables over winked or just blinked

.

Follow home the oncoming intrusion of light in the haze of inebriation

An avaricious pretence that promptly overpowers any realistic temptation

Surrendering the only control that wasn’t there to hold back in the first place

Coruscating affiliations underhandedly leaving hearts without a single trace.

~*~

The girl that you love, girl that you love
Girl that you love knows you don’t
Followed her, followed her
Followed her, followed her home…

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Dominance

And you’ll see your closest ones go first
Who needs enemies you’ve got friends
I’m a gentleman and you’re a liar
I expect the best of you but it’s so hard…

~*~

Oh, that never-ending thrum of her lifeblood. Splashing under vein and skin perceptibly, the splattered stains of her rogue lip-gloss submerging the hazy mascara-smudged gazes that she immediately crashed to the linoleum floor with a rejected dismay. What a mess—she looks drop-dead gorgeous tonight.

I approach her cautiously, casual and debonair, as to discourage unnecessary alarm. I admit, I was never one for such contrivances, writing unromantic lyrics at the back of my hand just so I can hold hers, irony unkindly spitting in my face with a sneer. Yet should she fancy a cosmopolitan to tear away the shreds of her enmities, I’ll be holding out a martini glass and nodding sympathetically, twisting the grim words as if it were Romeo’s dagger deeply shoved in her caved-in chest. Don’t bleed out yet, dear fragile porcelain girl, my obsequious platitudes and sycophantic adulation are yours to hoard and accrue. I’ll acquiesce in this chemical compliance to adorn your melancholy with rude festivities, I swear upon my heart.

Listen closer…do you hear her shattering tears inciting instantaneous panic on the dancefloor, digging holes deep enough for graves and hawking out salacious vultures to claw their way for the poor damsel in distress? Listen. Don’t be distracted by the jubilant electronic music whose undertones screamed of a mechanical cadaver behind the microphone, and hear the sound of a thousand starving beats ready to rend her apart. There they are now, the prurient salivating bastards, screeching and cawing shrilly, swooping closer and closer, razor beaks ready for the kill. It was up to me to stave the ravenous scavengers off tooth and nail, and never should it be said that such a task was not without tribulation.

I left that place beaten and badly wounded. But I do not mind the pain, for these fresh battle scars are an instrument of deceit; it shall only drag her in further into the elaborate delusion I set up for her to indulge herself in. She’s smitten by woe, deluded by pity, confused by liquor, a triumvirate of a perfect malleable soul. In her bloodshot eyes, I’m the bleeding fragile porcelain boy now, and it’s her adamant responsibility to pick up the pieces of my flesh that the scavengers left behind, it’s her self-blame and guilty contrition that will bandage them back together and fix my bruises to the best of her abilities. Deja vu, it seems. Yet, observe how the tables have turned. But no matter. She has my heart, if I had any at all. She is solely mine now. She is mine.

Listen…listen again. Listen closer, and hear the faint orchestral symphonies of her gossamer abstract body keeping me awake all day and singing me to sleep all night. Oh, that never-ending thrum of her lifeblood. How it tastes so fucking sweet between my sullied palms. How it thrums no longer now.

~*~

Let’s start over
When we reach the top, we’ll watch you bury yourself
This wasn’t easy, it wasn’t easy
I watched the weight of your world cave in to crush you.

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Filed under Prose

★ you home ☆

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

shall i spend eternity

waiting for a sign, and

flip wishing wells down

the tarnished dimes?

doomed to wander

and to ponder and

to be rended asunder

waywardness forever?

that, i’ll accept humbly

my wanderlust, wish

of worlds in reverie

never one with a roof

but nay will you be

dragged along my mad

adventures, you ate

your fill, you’ve had

never mind the roses

that get tiring after a

bit of a while, empty

as your shot glasses

shall i wait for you to

dance the pub roam

or finish another drink?

you proclaim no’m!

perhaps i’ll wait until

you see monochrome

and pass out and then,

let’s get you home.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

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Filed under Poetry, Southern Constellations

Intoxication

Whiskey gin and brandy
With a glass I’m pretty handy
I’m tryin’ to walk a straight line
On sour mash and cheap wine
So join me for a drink boys
We gonna make a big noise…

~*~

The name’s John Barleycorn, shrewd dipsomaniac since I was born, crude and rude till I get my brewed shit

I’m snapping on schnapps, losing my head on mead, and I invigorate my cold depleted spirits on iced spirits

Feasting nightly on a steady regular diet of grains (well, fermented ones); barley, malt, yeast, wheat, and rye

Foraged aqua vitae for vitality, Dutch courage, until I’m shaken and stirred up, bleary, weary, died and red-eyed

I’m a high flier, a live wire, a wildfire, I glue to the graffitied wall, hundred empty cans of crumpled Budweiser

Admitting my sacrosanct sins like a guilty friar as I’m lip-locked with my fellow liars, and no vicar is any wiser

Gonna go home with no designated driver, I’m pretty screwed, yes, so instead I down another screwdriver

Aye, break out the grog matey, ’cause it’s a sailors life for me, if I sail down the road and fall on the breakwater

And true enough, I partake endless dime vodkas and imbibe myself in penny red wine, but I never take cheap shots

Empty bottles shimmer like stars, shattered cocktails colour my tongue and my imagination left in psychedelic blots

Three sheets to the wind, and I flap carelessly till my pale face is scarlet-chafed and my spine feels warmer

Inebriate with magic potions concocted in a deadly caution, but shit, down the hatch, it doesn’t really matter

Out the back door, in the blind alleyway, toss a sidewalk pizza, bartenders love me; I’m bar diving, quite literally

Nefarious night clubs, shady strip bars, and I slam the glass hard on the counter and throw some more money

Fluttering wildly like a green fairy with broken wings, off to search for more magical nectar of gin and margaritas

Doch and Doris, downing scotch, rum, brandy, tequila, and daiquiri, offering a romantic bouquet of wine to señoritas

Cocky bastards sipping cocktails, winners spilling wine, sherry for ma cherie, champions popping champagne

Bootleggers legging their booties away and mysteriously manufacturing moonshine under the moonshine

Insomniacs wearing nightcaps drinking nightcaps, saltine crackers with salty legumes and styrofoam peanuts

Aperitifs, chasers, and digestifs all glugged back to back, hell, ain’t got no time to wait for the meal to eat that

A round of choked shots and ten fingers of whiskey and I’ve both middle fingers raised in drunken protest

Aching for a fight foolishly, and in the end, aching muscles and broken glasses and broken dignity is all I beget

Paper umbrellas prick my heart and cigarette butts burn holes in my brain, the thick smoke rolls like a fog so bleary

Lost under a forest of sneakers and stilettos as I crawl my way out the door and falling again as I slip on blood…y Mary

Stupid suckers smashed as the pieced glass on the floor, dancing to avoid bullets, idiots can’t contain their booze

I play and clap to this free midnight show, laugh at the clowns and resound along to the crowd’s distasteful boos

The bar’s a free for all, selling beer, beasts, and bodies, swap your husbands and wives for a conga line of cocaine

I knock back an unpaid pint of lager, climb on the countertop, and speak with a bitter brain and a heart of codeine

So I call attention ladies and gentlemen, three cheers to these asshole bastards and three cheers to the good old days

A big toast to poisonous humanity and the problems that only sweet alcohol can possibly ameliorate and erase

Lose sensation, lose elation, lose the pain, lose your gain, dance the night away, flirt foolishly in saccharine slurs

Toss the hammer and gavel from my judgement and end up in jail, but hey, don’t blame me, I’m just another wasted man drinking to stay sober.

~*~

So don’t worry ’bout tomorrow
Take it today
Forget about the cheque
We’ll get hell to pay
Have a drink on me…

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Filed under Poetry

After-Hours Run: A Villanelle

More bitter drops of whiskey on his tongue

Sad empty wineglass melting slowly in his hand

A grotesque aftermath of an after-hours run

.

Indulged in bubby champagne and endless fun

Drinking till his vision impairs, he can no longer understand

More bitter drops of whiskey on his tongue

.

Vodka, beer, cocktails, passed by his gullet, long gone

Sensibility lost and body on constant demand

A grotesque aftermath of an after-hours run

.

Lusting of women and crooning songs unsung

Hazy temptations and dry mouth filled with sand

More bitter drops of whiskey on his tongue

.

Imbalanced foolish decisions and cold sweat clung

Vertigo throwing his face down into the hard land

A grotesque aftermath of an after-hours run

.

And the blinding sun rises, his bloodshot eyes it stung

Hungover in an alleyway, nicked off his wallet and prideful stand

More bitter drops of whiskey on his tongue

A grotesque aftermath of an after-hours run.

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Filed under Fixed Poetry, Poetry