Too Much Wine

08 May


Too Much Wine


If there were inconsistencies in the masterpiece,

they were largely ignored;

she was allowed her manic episodes,

and the next time we’d lay exhausted in each other

and all was forgiven for craving, a casualty

and respite, and all that was clarifying

and cloying deliberations and previous, tony hauntings   

and self-absorbed insurrections and lubricious caprices

we’d be comforted by how nothing changes with us

and as always I’ve had too much wine

three liters of Carlo Rossi’s burgundy for fourteen dollars

from an unemployment check

like Dock Ellis throwing a no-hitter on LSD

like a hooker who brings you egg rolls

who shaves her pubic hair in your bathtub in a maudlin manner

and then nothing matters but how I forget

and I’m running out of cigarettes

and I’m listening to post punk and loathing myself mysteriously

and I miss the girl that wrote about Snapple caps

and, maybe, I’ve had too much wine

and is Santorum worried about Pennsylvania or is he chasing a VP billing like a destined ejaculation

and did I watch Colbert last night?

She slept right next to me

it didn’t bother her as nothing usually does

she didn’t wake up

and if she did and if it was forgotten

I would just kiss her clit in admiration like a regal hand, then her lips

and then she would continue sleeping

and then I would have another glass of wine.


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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