Bloody Vodka
by Tim G. Young
Another lonely night
after mind fuck
of numbing long shift
Crashing into couch
one beer but prelude to
three olives disperse into
clear shot icy vodka rolling
controlling the moment
waited for unconscious from the
minute of awake
drowned in daytime
like alcohol in vodka
Dream like clarity dancing loud
heated to boiling
bubbles baked in a cake
only contraptions never named
deep inside the red pimento
buT then swearing such sight
convinced all of beating blood
creeping to soaked noise of napkin
like death metal
cruising underbelly
until you fall in fucking love
Broken glass attacks me
sliced like an egg
metal in my mouth
driving into the snake
numbness returns
no escape
time gnawing
my ear
The image equivalents of mind-states are striking, an immersion in the way one numbness is invoked as rescue from another.
Almost gave up trying to come up with a comment for this, then I read David's and, well, yeah. That's it. That's how I feel, too. Or think. What I think. *
**
Thanks so much, the three of you, David, Mathew and Rachna.
I usually don't write while listening to music but last night demanded it.
So well executed.*
*
Gratitude to the greats, Amanda and Charlotte.
Bukowskian ballad bloody beautifully bitter.
Marcus! Thank you. I wouldn't be here without you.