Today I think I will make colored rain
of the pictures of you in my wallet
Watch a burnt orange sun slide down the long neck
of a cold foreign beer
I will sing a little Cash and get a little broke
on the wrong side of the bar
behind $20 worth of a pick me up
Then I will tell you off in pig latin
like the cardboard celebrity you are

You used to rub me the right way
like an antique Cognac
Now you go down my throat flavorless and scratchy
You are a bad hangover I will come out of
one of these unholy days
When I finally shake loose of these low spirits
But not today while my thirst is still so damnable
and a plain vodka crowns
a shelf, calling my name in its Russian tongue

No, I won’t burn up in a dry frenzy of apologies
I will dry off the tears with something wet
and take a dip in the familiar ocean of your lies
My kerosene is your cake
I will eat it too like I don’t know better
feel the sugar soak into the creases and folds
of the wounded mass of tissue you left in my chest
But only once I am done
licking the bottom clean of my glass