well i could do with a stiff drink,
followed by a few more.
and top it off with one last swallow,
and then head out the door.
to see the world from my new eyes,
the gutter, or the floor.
and later on, face on the seat,
i'd see a little more.
vinyl paint across the wall
with stains that look like piss,
i can taste the urine now,
i could get sick of this.
the dreams about the world
i saw, will be polluted then,
with all the salty stingy scent
that i'm surrounded in.
but maybe i'll awake anew,
(well, maybe the next day)
i'll try again to see the world
with that erratic sway.
i'll hold the globe up to the light
to see with drunken clarity
the way that it is all built up,
around this last disparity:
of making it until next year,
and will they stop the war?
or will we all be radiated
and melt down to the floor
like crayons in the microwave
or icecream in the sun?
i'd hate to see it end that way,
but at least the going's fun. |
Submission Name: Every Cloud Has a Uranium Lining.
