Drink

Borta suzzed…

Whiskey makes me

so much more

philosfivcal…

philopsfivslal…

philopsical..

philosiphicacal…

philosopsical…..

I like whiskey.

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Out and about

It’s amazing
how a city,
your city,
can affect
how you take
the world.
This bearded guy
serving my beer
is a douche…
40 miles north
of here.
Here,
however,
in this town,
tonight,
he is one of ours.
If I were stopped
at a traffic light
I might find room
in my heart
for disdain
of he
and his ilk,
but with my beer
in his hand
all I feel
is kinship
and understanding.

When the ball drops

Two more hours
and another year
fades away.
But really,
what has passed?
Just another day…
one more day,
like the one before it.
We give it a new label
but it carries no more
significance.
What a colossal waste
of our collective energy…
pontificating on the meaning
of a variation in the calendar.
But in 1:45 millions will plan,
to the best of their capacity,
the rest of the year….
it will have all the weight
of a drunken whisper,
or a whores praise.
Happy New year,
make this one
the first one
without any lies
to yourself.

Distilled

A single ice cube
in a glass of whiskey
spreading out tendrils
as two disparate fluids
marry one-another.
I love the sight of this,
a gorgeous dance
awakening the spirit
of the drink.
Now a slow,
deep quaff
of scent…
left over
from the barrel,
the process…
time.
Lastly,
the sip
(the tongue
must wait
its turn).
Pause,
repeat.
I think
this is what
prolonged time in heaven
must actually consists of.

Frosty

Beer,
it makes me human…
is it bad
to say that?
Life is
a chore,
it becomes
encapsulated
and seperates me
from humanity.
I could hide inside
and play possum;
no longer
engaged.
And
I do…
frequently.
But,
a few beers
and the world
feels real,
the drama
and strife
become honest
to me.
I can relax
and feel
involved.
Too often this place,
our culture,
pushes me aside
(like an inside-joke)
and ignores me…
I will connect,
though,
and commune with you,
over a few
cold ones.