Transitional Fossil

" The question isn't "who is going to let me"; it's "who is going to stop me".
Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

Saturday, September 10, 2005

Last Call

What can be done has been done
“Shots?? I’ve had some.”
Of all the things to be done
Vodka seems like the right one

All my hopes and untouched fears
Go well with my lump and a few beers

But I feel only a little different
This band-aid of Absinthe is not sufficient

Heal all this strafing of our scars and bone
Make us feel whole in our own home
Echo our mantra, the drunken moan
See you, the shadow of love and disgust shone

The yelling sometimes stops, and we both cry
In abstract moments apologies touch sky
Other needless whispers throw me to the floor
“That’s right!! You head for that door!!”

The sip of grainy water tosses the question of why
But it’s not so much why as when that brings a sigh.
Was it always like this, objects forgetting gravity??
My head spins, damn Scotch, shrinking my levity

Can’t we just stop and tell the truth
Isn’t there a reset button, put down the Vermouth
Baby, I love you, and you love me.
Be right back, beer makes me pee.

At the fifth glass of wine, I smash the bottle
It’s time to leave this life, full throttle.
I want to take you away from this haze
To our future, into the sun ablaze.

Baby, put down the decanter and take my hand
“You promise they’ll be trees and sand??”
No, not that champagne, there is no need
Make your choice, come with me and see


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