We get caught up in intelligent design
Dwelling over faith, fate, and faithlessness
But dockside is where you'll find me
A glass of sweet burgundy, a sidewise grin
Watching lovely bodies upon watercraft and
You can say what you will about creation,
But I'm sucking on a glass larger than my face
And I can careless who created this breeze
I'll thank whomever did, however,
These blues and sharp yellows amongst
The boggy coastal waters
I feel like I'm the transparent article
Only in which I'm chasing wine with wine
And the presence on my breathe is holier
Than I could ever imagine
It's the drunk and the air mixing
And maybe poison labels are our scripture
Disillusion and fog being our rugged path to dharma
And our visions of god seeping out of empty whisky bottles.

05/31/2009

Posted on 05/31/2009
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