Drunk at 3 am
I make a plan
to lie on the floor
in my father’s living room
-
and one to drink
until i am sick
-
and when I look in the mirror
I see how ugly the face is
that looks back and I think
I would make a good
art film, a representation
of grief and loss
-
but I am not an image
because they are empty
-
and I remember
maybe more than a year ago
when my brother and his girlfriend
gave me a few glasses of wine
-
and I re-read Whitman
and fell in love again
and god it was so beautiful
-
and I remember
I told my brother
how much I loved reading Whitman
that night
-
“I think you were drunk”
that’s what he said, at least that’s
what I remember
-
Oh empty God
oh empty heart
I am a joke
passing as a some connoisseur
of beauty
-
when really I am just
a sad drunk
who wishes his life
was love
