Wednesday, March 2, 2011


A laundry list of who knows what,
A bottle of heat I pack near me,
An ounce of Crown, from which I drown,
Without the accessories
A man like me could surely starve

Two glasses, fancy and convenient,
One for me, the choice without holes I prefer,
The other is for whoever answers,
The invitation, unopened and on the counter still,

Three tomorrows in every shot
Each future looks the same
At face value,

Four strands of hatred in that voice of yours,
Judgmental and misunderstanding
The words I’m labeled, not only direct but very telling,
In spite of their offensive, I do not resort to yelling,
Five nights it is, condescending tones I’d miss without,

Six…Seven, eight nine,
Children’s joke, Get’s them every time,
Ten, Eleven……Can a fool enter the gates?

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