the sieve and the sand » drunk

driving through shitty towns drunk

David X. Hugo — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 02:37:32 +0000

inside you is a tension
from the building up of steam
and you won’t just let go of it
for that would be obscene
you pretend that you are limber
so to all it can be seen
yet you are just a child, dear
just-a waiting to be free’d
so come and take a ride with me
away from your sick dream
i’ll teach you how to lift the world
and put it down, where you please
see the colors of the void
and then, too, of the leaves
think about the higher things
and sit up in the trees
let all of our love out
and let it flow
in-between.

the guilt of eyes

David X. Hugo — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 22:15:43 +0000

u strted 2 play pretnd
i look’d twards alkohal
we can pretnd i kept it downn
things on firre spun our fann
im not much fer pretend
no fun 2 b serrious all the time
can’t quite drive wit hifsting lines

Afterglow

Julio Chapluzki — Sat, 09 Aug 2008 20:42:03 +0000

i didn’t see it coming
until it was too late
and i was gone completely
talking about crazy things
in an overly eloquent way
because of too little blood
in the alcohol stream

salvation

rcribay — Sun, 11 May 2008 00:18:56 +0000

poetry and prose drunkenly read
in dim light held by hands that
moments before had hidden our drinks
makes me feel as though words
are our salvation—and that this
is not absurd.

On the beauty, horror, and sorrow of a drunken hit-and-run

Julio Chapluzki — Mon, 05 May 2008 04:05:35 +0000

The spray of dust was majestic
as the pickup exploded the bricks,
and yet it did not stop
but proceeded to further rut the yard
and straddle another mail box
which was broken into a million teeny, tiny pieces
by the powers of modern machinery
and alcohol.
And yet the truck was not dissuaded
from its onward course, but
denying the logical conclusion of the air-bag,
the truck drove on, with sparks flying as
the undercarriage scratched its path into the ground.

And as I watched,
I could not stop thinking
about the old man
I glimpsed in the driver’s seat
and the semi-circle and
squiggly line on the liscence plate;
about what causes an old man to become
so pissed at 6:00 in the afternoon
and then to drive home,
against all the insistence of MADD.

Was it bad news? bad health? bad gas?
Was it caused by a call? a friend? a thought?
Or was he just lonely: alone: forgotten:
drowning his sorrows: forgetting why he was drinking?
Or maybe he was just an old bastard,
trying to kill someone on his way home.
Whatever the reason, whatever the cause,
tonight the old, handicapped, mail box destroyer
is sitting in prison,
wishing today had gone down differently,
and I too wish it had happened differently
because these feelings of pity are not comfortable.