Town Drunk

When you’ve had enough
it’s not enough
until after a while
everything becomes
a violent smear of
voice and colour

There is music as well
you hear violins
must be Beethoven.

He was a fucking drunk too.

They all were
all the greats
except for Hitler
and look what happened to him.

What, you want to fight me for saying that?

Sure, let’s go out back
and I don’t care that you’re
a crippled woman dressed like
a Yiddish man.

Well then,
come disco with the devil.

This whole world and all the
abrasive wasteful mutts that inhabit it
has got you drinking the whole bottle
the whole week
because the way you feel
is all their fault
and you drink because
of the way you feel.

Does that make sense?
No?
Here, drink this.

How about now?

And once again you’ve made
yourself look like an inept drunk
because of the fact that you’re an
inept drunk

Then finally you’re about to leave the party
with the midget you picked up
at the men’s shelter

But somehow
you underestimate
where the top step ends
and air begins
and your whole body
lunges forward
as though from the gallows
and all too soon you will be
making out
with the pavement
as the bottom step
rushes to greet you like
an anxious lover
and time seems to lag
so that you can
watch it all happening
like a nuclear bomb
or a nightmare
unfolding
in slow motion

as the mad symphony plays on…

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8 thoughts on “Town Drunk

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