A Monkey And Tequila Poem by Alistair Plint

He said it best
when he questioned her
affection for his "keyboard kiss"
& threw the real life, at the page
what would it be like
with children
with the nine to five
with the tar from the street life
coming out
pumping volcanic molten lava
where blood used to dwell?

I'm nursing a Mopane worm
keeping it drowned
using a camel packet
to keep the balance
solid

I know; I said, I wouldn't
it is monday after all
- when
the deathly deafening silence
hits this house
like a cricket-less acoustic science
A man has to rely on
the sounds the bottle makes
when it hits the table

Three quarters of the liquid shakes

The boss
interrupted the elbow movements
making the brain feed it's
imagination


That's over now
I have time
time to tell a woman
time to tell a woman, she's turning my tar
into blood
time to tell a woman, she's turning my pump into a heart
time to tell a woman, I've waited for her to get home from work
(I don't know how far work is, or if it's needed)

I do know, I made excuses of it
An excuse to make this worm swim
quarter way down the bottle
An excuse to slap three
full volume buttons on a Agro CD


An excuse to blast death metal at my neighbour
He should kill silences too
has good taste in music
I make sure of it

My mind wanders back to my watercolor
canvass of an old spirited soul
with gifts of real value to give

I stare at the pressed metal ceiling
trying to figure
trying to figure if this is me
trying to figure if this is me
living a bastard with a princess's poetry; or
if this me finding my own real life poetry

For now
for now this me is living the poetry I know;
for now this me is living a dream;
living a dream
I took six years to write


The worm is lying in the dry
bottom of the

cold
empty

bottle




I'll say "good morning"
later