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Anne: waiting for the buzz.

by Andrew S Adams

six bottles of rootbeer:
sipping off the foam,
the moment is lost to the
oppressive heat;

i down these six like the poseur alcoholic
we all strive to be when we're ten years
old.

that's where i last found my own
distinctive words before i left
on my own to find you, to discover that i dont know
anything
about being on my own
and that my voice will soon be gone from
trying to speak of every love i've ever lost.

i swill this rootbeer down to the bottom
which is now mostly consistent of the memories
of when we kissed in between sips, and the
backwash byproduct that remains is the last
trace of saliva that touched between our lips
before i became this worthless drunk.

10/27/2004

Posted on 10/28/2004
Copyright © 2019 Andrew S Adams

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Glenn Currier on 07/06/09 at 03:25 AM

What a crooked path we are flung onto with love lost. Your poem evokes a sort of slow sadness in me and I appreciate the creative creature underneath its lines. May he find his way. Thanks for sharing this Andrew.

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