Lights strewn across a paper
maché sky,

vodka plummets, bobs, sloshes
in my gut.

Thoughts of weed shoes and the jibberyjoos
flash before my eyes

and Satan—dark, no, light and giddy, occupies
my mind.

Lonely and barren, the desolate hole coughs
in my heart

for the sound of meaning has escaped
my grasp,

wandering through ghetto chinks
and clinks.

Eluding lips that drip with
wantonness

all for the sake of a trip-
ping herbal dream.

11/23/2003

Author's Note: Oh, what a night this was.

Posted on 10/28/2004
Copyright © 2024 S. Pelham Flood