alcohol

Long Distance Charges

poetry

I called you up
at 12am my time
10pm yours
on a Saturday night
in January
and you told me all your secrets
like it was nothing at all
as you cut onions on a cutting board
and danced to the music
that played in the back
real low

I was laying in a fat recliner
that was jammed against the wall
so the broken spring was less apparent
as I tried to write those secrets down
and trade you some of mine
but they all just came so fast
that my head started spinning
or at least that would be my excuse
because we’d both rather
leave the alcohol
out of this

I want to eat wings,

poetry

and i want to be alone,
and i want to get drunk,
sopping, stupid, pissed drunk;
so that i’ll see double
the wings on my plate;
and i’ll not mind
the burning, outside my mouth;
and i’ll even sadistically enjoy
the fire soon to come;
and i’ll not notice
that i’m alone,
instead focusing only
on the close companionship
of greasy, spicy, wing flavored alcohol,
cause I don’t want to feel alone tonight.