Don’t Forget

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Sap at just about every turn leaves
a man feeling crash
“turn” meaning the phrases avoided
on the way to the fridge he calls his bar
the shot of water in a half-broken glass
he calls a martini

clear liquors go down best listening to songs
with some chest hair
the fiery burp a telltale sign
practicing weakness for the first
kiss is a lark
a page out of her book
that he never put down

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Lord Bison

Jazz-soaked spirit running circles around despair...or something like that. Really. Lover of words, lover of being in worlds New Yorker, artist, Virgo besieged by airhead tendencies akin to Libra moves. Bronx is home base. Began an obsession with writing at seven and twenty-odd years hence, still at it. Enjoy/love/hate/be bored/appreciate to your heart's content. Or something like that.

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