NEEDLING

THE BOTTOM OF THE BOTTLE

Whiskey night yogurt goblets
it’s that kind of time
I’m having with the lights off…

Like a dog pissing on a night post
lighting a dead street
long after midnight
long after the last bars have shut
long past the shadows
long since I’ve felt this sober
long after the third rooster’s crow
long after nothing has come
long past the deadline
long since we’ve all fried in hell
lighting ourselves kamikaze & molatov
like a dog pissing on the flame to put out the fire.

Failure is the word prowling
in the background
shades on
slick hairdo backwards
greased back in a flat twenties gangster’s shoe polish mojo.

I’m the dude singing the bad song
bringing down the fat gong
killing off the last bed bugs in the mattress
infesting weddings beneath my skin
like rings of marital flings stringing Garth, the school boy…

Whiskey baby, tell me the truth
for once and for all
lets all be done and gone with it
lets deal it raw on the table
like a dead baby
hanging to the shreds of scapegoat bush fire next to the shed…

Whiskey baby, tell me the truth
for once
lets all of it be naked like stark snow flakes
lets speak freely standing on the roof with locked doors
lets drink ourselves to death
and wake up in the morning remembering nothing about nothing
lets make promises after promises
and keep not a single one of them…

Whiskey baby…