twist bottle, turn, stop
the music’s gotten
too loud, I can’t hear
you anymore,
can’t hear anything, but
cold sweat this hand
clenched around this napkin
another round
I’ve done
another round
I see Poe’s raven
molting in the corner
Homer’s monsters
fighting each other
for a seat,
the whiskey guru
next to me
says “it’s harder
to believe”, I believe
that
another round
I’ve done
another round
this table
makes a good headstone
the lights go out
another morning’s here
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem