Scotch

Scotch

The scotch sat there
untouched and untamed
waiting for my lips to grace
it with its presence.

However, they never did.
They sat watching knowing my
stomach could implode.
The scotch sat there
glimmering from the dim-lit
glow of the streetlights
peaking through the blinds.
Smoke from other’s lungs lingered
around the bottle,
but it still sat there
ignoring the others temptations
ignoring their tension and their
addiction;
It was feeding off of mine.
The taste of it was on my lips
the idealistic intoxication
it could drown away my sorrows
it could flood out the emptiness of all the
other whiskeys have left me.
Scotch could quench thirsts
when all other ferments fail.

I was to live, but still remain dead.

It wanted chilled by the frost of my
innards. There was no heart any more
too many took it out to play
and eventually through sampling, ignorance,
and the unfortunate lack of paranoia

It had been dismantled, disassembled and melted.

For all I know it’s diluted somewhere down the
Susquehanna. People are pointing at it, swimming through it and
wondering why
the fish are dying.

However, I’m sitting and watching this bottle of scotch
waiting to be devoured. It’s sitting on the shelf
looking down. I can tell it has millions of watchers
of them watching it licking their lips and getting
giddy. all of them more than willing to forget the night
the week and just live inside of a dream,
but I still there avoiding it, but mesmerized by it.

I might be in love, and I can tell its glimmer and its
essence is only for me, but

for once I must deny its beauty
and to let it understand
I can survive on my own.

Bonus: Lucky

He points at me
“Listen buster,
you could have had
the world,
but instead you floundered it away
following all those
two cent morals
caring about how tomorrow could be
another’s day. That’s right, this world
could all been yours, but instead
you’re dancing telling everybody ‘It will be alright,
keep faith. The sun will come out even
brighter tomorrow.’– that optimistic bullshit. ”
I just stare right into his eyes,
as his staggered, white balding
head glimmers in the
dim lights from
above.

“Listen here, kid,
hope is for the lucky,

and as for the rest of us?

We just need a bottle, any bottle
as long as its hard.
Some need bigger than others,
but in the end they all end
up empty

as we stumble under the gaze of your
serenity. Your seemingly smug smlie
of excellence.

Damn you for being so
damn
lucky.”

I look at him, perplexed,
as he limps slowly away
and the alcoholic
stench of his breath dissapates
in the air.

“Lucky? Who the fuck is lucky?”
I ask the bartender, as he
brings me the usual,
a “hint tonic and with a boat
load of Gin”.

“Here ya go, Lucky” he chuckles

“Thanks.” I slip him
the customary
tip and a smile.

Extra: Four Booths down

Four booths down
three faux blonde plastic bitties
sit with their modest lack of clothing
glistening of their electronically
pigmented skin innocently flashing
flesh, two gooshie pillows bulging
behind cotton threads, on the prowl
for Joe, Moe or Dick just “look’n for
a piece of
ass”

At least this is what I gather
from four booths away secretly sipping
glass after glass of g&t
observing media’s most interesting
of creations.  ’Tis a simple
rubber neck effect, I’m pulled
by the grotesque curious temptations
that breed in the late night drunk’n
thoughts of my inner cortex, some people
say men think about sex every seven seconds or so
but they’re wrong, I think, but this is not
a time to prove anything, because
we all know drunk’n minds
do wander…

The grand canyons, those fissures, their
cleavage, i look around as the eyes linger
grasping over their bosoms. I join them
in curiosity, something might happen, a giggle
a tear, a flash something exciting because
when about sixty men’s eyes gawk in desperation
you’d think sexy isn’t enough, but apparently
it is. I see men falling in
glancing deep into an altered
pseudo sense of loneliness
I imagine what the other
men imagine, i figured they were thinking
what they could do with those titties.
All of them tempting, all of them guilt raising
pulsating the alcohol further into their thoughts.
They all fall into those deathly canyons, but I
I stay back and grasp wearily onto my glass and
take further sips
of my g&t.

I see an older man Fixating on
the bar’s fixation, the vulgar
thought seep from his lips as he says
“I think I’m in love” and he slowly
slips his binding ring into his back pocket.
He never makes a move he just sits and stares
and hopes the awkward glances from them to
him will gravitate them towards several free
drinks and hopefully a bare time; however,
the bitties don’t budge
and they’re stuck steadfast in their
radiating booths waiting
for the bastards to come to
them. .

Then Two Jackasses, w/ popped collars,
draw to those chicas. The boys
salivating like flies to shit as
they’re glassied eyed
and pitching tents  preparing
to make the boldest move.
Pick up phrases, and practiced
smiles become their plastered
composure. Then I hear their lips smack before
they offer
“Sex on the beach? Orgasm? Possibly
just a Beer? A pabst, just kidding.”
jubilant giggles jiggle jubilant breast
which in bittie language, I’m
pretty sure means
“yes.”

So they follow each other, and our eyes
and necks turning towards the bar with them
sweeping up and down glances admiring
again , again on what this evening has
to offer. their eyes too run up and down
each other dressing, undressing, plotting
practicing, much like ourselves
and then

my girlfriend then prods me,
she shocks “Me what are you
looking at?!”
“Huh, Wha–oh nothing.”
“really?”
“I, ah wha, umm…have I told you
that i loved you…
and You’re beautiful”
“…no”

In sincere stumbled composure
“Oh hey look our glasses
are empty
I think I’ll go get us
another set of
drinks.”

Then she says
“no, let’s get
home” in words sopped
in pissed off disappointment.

& so we do…
without any goodbyes
to any bartenders, friends, or bitties
we get up,
walk out
and never look back

I shake my head
fumbling for excuses
trying so damn  hard
just to ignore
our
silence.

21: Sometimes it’s not the Booze

After long work day
at work where
nothing seemed to go
my way, I skipped my
apartment, didn't change,
and went straight
to the bar.

I sat down next to only
open seat next
to a pretty broad, but
who was too busy
talking to the bar
tender.

I ordered a Lager
and took a sip, trying
to keep to myself, but
the Cold beer trickled
down my front lip
and splattered on my
shirt.

"I see you got a drinking
problem" she said turning to look at me.

	It happens from
	time to time. Hole
	in my lip, ya see,
	unfortunate fishing
	accident.

"ah, smart Alec. I
like them."

	That's good 'cause otherwise
	it seems you would have a low
	self-esteem.

"Well, mister,I might just have that
low self-esteem, but you'll have
to talk to me some more
to find out." 

Let me tell ya, later that night
after talking and then some, 

a bad day turned into
a fantastic night.

& There's no doubt
when we left our seats
the only thing she loved
more than herself was
me.

and visa-versa