Poetry Over A Bottle Of Merlot

Shotglass Post

Late Nights of Late

mind races,
Hearts’ been stopped.
My fingers



She said,
Im yours

He repeated.

They were already taken
by the


The Edge

the edge is where i totter
drifting between opposing circumstances
containing fate.
has long left my mind
my body
my home
my rationality

I always find myself running into such wild




I can remember there was a time
when madness wasn’t liquified
in my veins.
Pumping threw me
Madness is a form of art,
a walk of life,
a nod of the head or
the shake of the hand.
Madness is a discipline
that tells you to dress well
to get a job-
to act accordingly
to create order;
or the thought order could exist.
Madness is a comfort
to the weary and disavowed,
to the lovers and the lonely
to the technocrats governing
us all.
Madness is a style,
a patter
a movement
to compare the legitimacy of riotousness
Madness is me
and i know it
i can escape it
I have succumb.


The Wake
My throat raw
My body aches
My soul Has dissappeared.
My mind wanders
Back to the point-
My ass hurts
My eyes squint
My life flashes before my eyes
The spark of radiation
Like the sun exploding.
I laugh at the turmoil
that has absorbed my


3 thoughts on “Poetry Over A Bottle Of Merlot”

  1. there is one run which is useless and pointles
    the run from being yourself
    what you are
    what i …is?
    i’ll never be the third person.
    i am what i am.
    and will always be.
    in russian we say not
    “i’m speaking my mind”
    in russian we say
    “i am pouring my soul
    so fond of liquids we are.
    that’s what i do
    pouring my soul out
    or i get drawn in these words,
    in these thoughts,
    in my love


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