A brief stroll through Absinthe paved streets of my strife... |
Absinthe Minded The grease of butts thicken the walls of my lungs. Absinthe mindedly, I gather my belongings, And prepare to evict myself from the presence of Strangers that have possessed my friends. Back on the streets, I feel home? Away from the blonde jokes, bad breath and Dermitilogical appraisals, I slide from one doorway to the next, Blessing, forcing myself into the Business Class section of my life. I tremour with enourmous peace, Absinthe mindedly shaking the Champagne bubbles from my upper lip, calling the sidewalk stewardess For a membership to the mile high club, Then regretting it because...home? I have no pockets all I have is empty pockets. I run a hand across my newly shaven head, Feeling the bumps and crevasses of baseball Bat caresses and hockey stick past, sensing The next blow in the brown paper bag, held, protected, by my side. But there’s a deficiency on the streets Tonight; that familiar, arrogant prejudism That makes paper cuts on my irises Is missing. That’s why it just doesn’t feel like home...I think Absinthe mindedly. I'm auctioning off my hair to raise money for Breast Cancer Research. Visit http://www.justgiving.com/suemeyer to place your bid! |