3 Drinking Poems

3 Drinking Poems

Shattering the surface of – what?
What is here? A cup of tea, a shivering hand
This is no disturbance
Merely the continuation of what is, what things are
Raised to the lips it slips from the
Thick, calloused thumbs
He can feel the rubbing
The pull away from every ridge
Every print of his unique being
And this heat – all one heat
From the sweltering beneath his sweater
The urge of his groin
The pulsing of his blood
The steam from the tea trapped in his fingertips
The drip down his chest
All the self immolation
One great eating away
All one way these things are


Even my parents know
I’m sick
Even those I have made
a habit of lying to
I can’t cover my eyes with
my tongue
Can’t turn them into cockroaches
that they might chatter away
to shrivel beneath a
toilet bowl or couch
or a shoe like all nuisances
So I will not lie but I will
lie down in a bed
of myself
My skin and my
bones and my blood
and my words and
I will sleep


What a number
like a conspiracy it shows me
that what I wrote before is wrong
I am an old man
Telling us to get ready to die
Sleeping too much
With no more songs to sing
Listening again and again
my throat’s too raw
for anything new
I’ve kept dreaming but I never
learned how to give up
on anything but myself
I give myself to others and
like a seed
put my soul in the loam
of their love
But I will never get to grow

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