DIZZY DISCO FACE-PLANTS

contort your cataracts

__ 

        __________

   _____ ______

to counter

to sheath

the interaction between

you and your private

turpitude;

that recessive binge-ball

where honor is not an option

and your moral fiber has frayed-

nondescript.

your sacrosanct shangri-la

your modus operandi

crawls out of that salivating slit

you call a mouth

whenever that mongrel

loses his muzzle.

WHY CAN’T THE DEVIL PLAY HIS

FIDDLE IN A DIFFERENT TOWN?

I want to walk on water with you

not drag you out of that swamp

with tied up pieces of bark

and W.C. Fields.

THERE’S A MAN IN YOU

RESEMBLING YOUR FATHER MORE

BY THE PINT,

THERE’S A GENTLE SOUL PRUNING

OVER IN YOU

EVERY TIME YOU GOTTA

YOU GOTTA

celebrate

the glorious qualities of booze

AND I CAN’T REMEMBER ANY

OF THOSE GOOD TIMES

I HAD WITH YOU.

Eat or drink?

the saddest part about any of this

is that every night starts

with the same old hymn

“Sink, Florida, Sink”

or

“The Mariner’s Revenge”

and then you think you’ve got

glitter in your teeth

coughing up dizzy disco face-plants

without glamour

without credentials

to back that hot ass up

you rock star.

you porn star.

you partied that animal

into a dead duck.

I’ll see you

in a month

with my tail between my legs

wrapped around a flask

filled with a fast-

forward smack;

another casual fisting by a bipolar tomorrow.