| Drunk Author: |
bghamer |
| Description: |
its a description of my hangover day sunday when i drank heavily it was a regular occurance its just a rhyming description the name is sungover |
| When: |
12/6/2004 9:56:48 AM |
| What: |
its a description of my hangover day sunday when i drank heavily it was a regular occurance its just a rhyming description the name is sungover |
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| No Longer Morning |
I shuffled once, twice in my bed and saw by the clock that it was no longer Morning,
Awake now and dehydrated still smelling like the stale cigarette
smoke from inside and out,
I arise to a hangovers tender embrace as a wondrous
expression lights up my fresh face.
Throbbing temples, heavy dry eyes, my body a canvas.
For paint, the bruises the cramps the aches.
“What an artist wont do for his work” sacrificing his very self to
the liquid medium.
In the mirror a burned out shell with grey eyes and stubble chin
looks back out.
Sometime during the night the bomb was quietly diffused by
the angels of sleep,
The drool on the pillow and hangover crown the only remnants
now of a night on the town.
Well also pockets full of small chinking change to pull the
pants down.
It seems like only yesterday that my body was nimble and
quick and my mind was as sharp as bitter ale
Now I move slowly and with much care as the tender embrace
has grown quickly stale.
In the distance the angelus tolls and I prepare myself to meet
my maker.
“Eyes like burned holes in a blanket” my mother says returned
now from gods great house.
I rarely disagree.
My long lose limbs find themselves layed out on the couch as
my eyes half open half closed focus on the box.
The afternon busies itself with first lunch then the newspapers
crease and rustle and crinkle and shuffle,
While off in the kitchen the roast gently simmers in the oven.
A low hiss its only remark.
In theatre d’esprit the matinee begins of last nights premier but
with out the trumpets blare and gelled back hair.
What did he, I say to the maiden fair?
After the show and after the supper a weary tired mind retires
to the bedroom upstairs.
Sunday they call it.
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| Author, bghamer |
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