© 2023 by MCLA Spires. 

Thrones of Whiskey and Piss

March 5, 2018

I. Whiskey Ship

 

There is a frozen piss stain in the snow
Beneath his hips and betwixt his haunches.
Just a bum, who succumbed to the butt
Of some cosmic joke.

 

His fifth of bourbon beats in his fist as his
Handle of crimson life juice shatters
Against the pavement of his ribs.
Like the stars,
Reflecting off of the empty vessel on the sidewalk.

 

It lays beside his starboard foot, lacking a
Boot with a toe protruding from a hole in woolen socks,
Nibbled on like a bit of cheddar by some small creature.
A creature who now sits, watching me from

 

The dunes of melting sand.
His eyes are soft, Like those seeing an old friend, one he
Knew from the gutter he grew up in.
My eyes are diamonds, cutting into the glass.

 

The brown paper bag is breaking like peanut brittle,
As I extract the whiskey ship from his icy claws.
His fingers stick, leaving rusty labyrinth marks
Where I fit my own epidermal mazes.

 

Respectfully, I lift the empty bottle from its grave, beside
The man’s half eaten toe, and slip it into the peanut brittle
Cornucopia. A solitary salute is what I give the cold gentleman,
As he has provided warmth to another frigid soul.

 

II. I Am Falling I Am Spiraling

 

I start to move and my legs take me where they want to go and I
Am feeling warmth not burning but like a cold morning and the sun is
Falling on my legs waking them from their long and dreamless sleep and
I look around and my frame rate per second has slowed immensely and I
Am noting the serpents which my arms have become around and around
Spiraling telling me to eat the apple and I want the apple and I listen to them
And I feel the warm bourbon scorch my throat in a way almost like fire
No not like fire but like ice like I have swallowed the very breath of Winter in
One swig but the serpents lunge at my throat as if they want a taste
Is there a such thing as snake whiskey and if so I need some for my arms
Here because they don’t seem to be too happy with my choice of what
To do with the bottle I was so graciously given by that man who gave me
Help when I most needed it he knew someone would need a fire and it’s
Me so thank you my popsicle acquaintance and I realize that he is waving
In the snow and I wave back and something is familiar about him almost like
What the eyes of the rodent looked like as I recognized him from some other
World or perhaps just some gutter we’d grown up in and now my world
Is a glass with snow falling up and up and up and I am falling up and up and up
This is when the snow begins to fall but there is fire inside of me and all is
Right and I am in love with the world and the man waving who is
My brother or sister or father or mother or friend or professor who I saw one
Time at the funeral for Aunt Peggy and as I think of this I grasp for the bench
which
Has moved without my permission and I fall into a throne of snow so I
Run my hand along my beautiful wooden home as my flame blows
Out.

 

There is a frozen piss stain in the snow
Beneath my hips and betwixt my haunches.
Just a bum, who succumbed to the butt
Of some cosmic joke.

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