Friday, August 1, 2008


Swaying softly in the music
the drunk takes a bow

wrapping around his words
with slurred annoyance.

Seeking to end it all,
he continues to babble

about life and possibilities.

The woman
across the table ridicules:

the poor man’s sorrow is another
man’s laughter.

We are stuck in time
which doesn’t exist.

He is stuck in a moment
captured by Vodka
hoping that someone will
take him home and let
him pour out his misery.

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