drunk twenties #3

after many beers
word say they
make don’t but
hey the fuck
you mean no
gimme keys back
oh baby drive
you home me
or something
let me uber
you time long
lyft & in come
in & mind
the cat out
dammit no
shit oh shit
oh morris oh
come back cat
fuck kill love
me mate flat
will no go
better cat
chase need
again drink but
stumble yell
morris again
over and you
the cat thanks
and look corner
open pub so
pint maybe okay
home will find
the cat raining
morning naked

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scatology

sometimes
in the mid-
dle of a
good beer
shit there’s
a moment
of perfect
clarity &
then the
blood rush
blooms into
light & dis-
sonance &
damn if
the slate
isn’t wiped
cleaner than
my ass

leaves sink
like cherrios
in oat milk
but what did
you expect

hi-ho silver away

hey if you got a few
bucks to spare
instead of another latte
or avocado toast or
down payment on
a new up-do maybe
treat yourself to
riding lessons since
you got a nice high
horse there buckaroo

self-flagellation

I tell
myself
don’t over-
think it
just go
with the
flow &
don’t
dissect
every
damn
thing
but
the mind
is a
torturous
thing
& it’s
like that
meme
you know
the one
that you
chuckle
at because
you relate
especially
at 3 a.m.
when you
have to
get up
at 6:30
but no
my mind
would
rather
do neuro-
surgery
on every
sentence
that bubbled
out just
for shits
& giggles
& isn’t
that enough
punishment
to justify
existence?

backhanded

someone
once told
me that
my poems
felt like
the bastard
love children
of Chuck
Bukowski
& Rod
McKuen
raised by
Weldon Kees
& Leonard
Nimoy &
that pissed
me off
because
this is the
first time
I’ve ever
used “sloopy”
in a poem
goddammit