around a fire, my friends and i sit
the whiskey gone, several beers in
more alcohol than blood
these days,
these nights
our brains hiding in the soles of our feet
our hearts falling out of our mouths,
dangling from our parched tongues
(this drought seems endless,
the rain never falls)
but we still find the courage to smile, sometimes
we still summon a foolhardy strength to go on
to go on, regardless
and together and in turn
we dissect
we lay out and examine
the meager portions
life and love,
luck and chance
have doled out to us:
not even enough to feed a mouse,
but we would share them with each other
all the same
and the disappointment
the struggle
the absolute
ruin
is almost palpable
as we sit around the fire
watching the flickering light
illuminate
lifetimes of regret
i suppose
it is enough to be
alone
sometimes
as the anvil absorbs blow after blow
as rusty cans oxidize under a harsh sun
as the junkyards fill and the forests burn
as love walks away,
and does not look back
and as we drink to better moments,
moments that seemed so few,
we jokingly pry our eyes open wide
so as not to miss another
yes, it is true
what they say:
that only the lowest of the low
may minister to one another
and in the shrieking silence
one of my friends laughs
and says
love is like a
battleship:
obsolete,
fit only for tattoos
and i laugh
and i disagree
but i understand
and walking to the river, dragging my shadow
through all of that moonlight
i think of her
i think of her
i think of her
and i can’t help but laugh
as i feel the last of my grace
slipping away