Full moon moonshine
Drank got drunk stumbling beneath the blurry pair of pale faced moons.
Sip your gloom away the screaming crowd cries swaying.
Slouch down in that old blue lawn chair with your smoke soaked sponge lungs and watch her move so slow above you.
Weeping wine stained lips and tongues paint poetic portraits more precise than presidential speeches, only to wake up aching in the blinding bright hungover morning.
Memory empty like the shattered bottles scattered in the side yard.
Old habits die hard they say, so we drink away another day the same,
Only to wake up again to the next dreary tomorrow.
—Patrick Sangeorzan
Ode to a Shit Hole
Your restrooms stink
Your barmaid’s flabby
Your owner’s a fink
Your winos are stabby
Wanna talk about trouble?
Wanna talk about fear?
Then pour me double
And let’s talk about here
So many better bars in town
And I’d tell you to go to hell
But I just sat down
And I fit in so well.
—Tony Patch
Drinking Raw
You dear strange
little souls
bigger than the world
tied to its nods
dreadfully busy
I drink
I laugh
I run away I run towards
my dear true self
blurred vision
not enough hallucinations
to keep my head above water.
There was nothing left to do
but drink on a freezing London night
on the bus and starving for food and truth
I drink not to starve
I drink to fall in love with lies—
society and lovers and delusions
everything is one and I am many.
I crawl up and down some hills
and mud and planets,
Where is my bottle?
Sore throat and empty stomach
I run to the bus nearly sobered up
brief moments of clarity
painful elements of being
I don’t need to be reminded
the rawness of things
I can see the bus my bottle on my seat
nearly saved I decide not to jump
rawness has taken over
I drink from it.
—Ella Valeree
RUM
I’d toast our inviter
To this debauched all-nighter
But he was arrested
An hour ago
And I’d raise a glass
To the guest of honor —
Alas
He went AWOL
After a shot of pernod
I’d sing praises to the guests
But they’re be praises useless
As I’ve misplaced
Every sodden and miserable one
Is there a single recruit
For an alcoholic salute?
Well there’s the whisky
The gin
And the rum.
—Max Sparber
Feeling Like Being Dangerous
these fingers read
the braille of knives
on the topside
of the scarred bar
where absent slivers
of memories
pool
with spilt whiskey
these days
i must
exhibit
control
i confess
i bite my tongues
all of them
teeth to fist to liquor-limp prick
count yourself lucky
here in this gin-dim lamplight
this balled fist holds
a beer
and not any number
of sharp fuck yous
i’d love to stick in
your ribs
—Taylor Gould
Double Vision
Two of you
is more than enough
for inebriated eyes.
—Chris Butler
A Place at the Bar
I spurn your tables
Those grim islands of exile
Those echo chambers of assholes
Frail ships afraid of the shore
It’s the bar where I belong
Broad and true
The beachhead of heroes
Beer taps like tank traps
And bartenders booming:
“Follow me! I know the way!”
Until you get wounded
Then the fuckers push you
out to sea
like a broken Eskimo.
—Tony Patch
Seasonal Drinking
The Rieslings and mulled merlots
Of Christmas make me blush.
The scotches of deeper winter
Blur me beside a friend’s small fire.
The clear rivering beers of spring
Pour a lazy hour in the breeze.
The juniper daze of gins bring
Summer, and its long, sad light.
—Ernest Hilbert
ALL MY GIRLFRIENDS
Your mother asked me to find you.
She was dressed in that old housecoat,
coughing up huge gobs of guilt.
It was pointless to argue.
The new fallen snow impeded me not
since a booth at the nearest bar
was occupied by yourself.
I saw that you were unhealthy,
had the dimmest of prospects.
You offered to buy me a drink
but the look in your eyes said
you had given up perhaps as far back
as the eighth grade when Miss Clark
asked you to name the largest continent
and you said, “Australia!”
—Colin James
What’s your pleasure?
Dry martini, desert dry
Gin, with a splash, or just whisper “vermouth”
Invest in the best you can afford
Dividends yield a better night, a better morning.
One good olive, no splash,
Save the holy water.
Or lemon peel,
Twist to form a surface rainbow
Simplicity, elegance.
James Bond is wrong.
Shake: the pure liquid clouds.
Add ice, stir, strain: A crystal clear, burning cold nectar.
—Eileen Hession
untitled
You woke up with a hangover.
Everyone woke up groggy with
red eyes feeling blurry,
even those who never touched the stuff.
Infants were spared,
but anyone over 3 years old
needed medicine.
The pigeons were laughing
speaking Spanish, whistling
at girls walking by.
A dog was giving palm-readings
at the street corner.
Cats melted away,
only their calls & paws existed.
A man named Ikol walked
the middle of the street naked
calling everyone to join him.
Someone brought my attention to
the Sun and when I looked up
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing…
—William Jackson III
Hair of the Dog
Old Harry Scofflaw
was bit in a place raw
by a dog he’d thought rather friendly
The disease that it spread
ran straight to his head
and left him all throbbing and mangly
Into the morning he staggered
through light sharp as daggers
to hunt down his cure quite grizzly
Back to the local
where the mutt was so social
he called with a voice cracked and gravelly
“Come here you old scamp
last night we were champs
but this morn we meet just to heal me”
And with a shot and a pour
from the tail he tore
the two hairs that cured him chemically
So take heed those who might
be with dogs in the night.
The disease is the cure repeatedly
—Don Bosko
Our Early Nights Were Late
Our early nights were late, dark, small, crowded
In that bar that was more like a hallway
Before smoking was a crime
And driving drunk was just a way home
Like any other night
That bar might have belonged to our uncles
It was family
We all were
You and your friends owned it long before I arrived
But then there I was, related by way of love
And alcohol
In our early days, we filled the house with smoke
Dog at our feet, sun far from rising
I dragged all my furniture over
Kept you planted in whiskey
Meanwhile people just showed up and stayed for the party
Which seemed to keep on going
It was always happening
At some point we cut out the cigarettes
But the waterfall of booze carried on
A geyser in the kitchen just waiting
Like a dare
I want you to come home now
Because I’m ready to play our favorite game again
—Elyce Barrigan-Dunlop
Snowflake
There is an amber reason
Full of cheer and death’s head moments
While we fight and die and love
That burns the skin of truth
And floats
Eye level,
Bloodshot and proper
With shaking hand and twitching heart
To make us whole again
So, we raise our glass, filled with burnt umber
A fire in the throat of night, lightning-split and heart-felt
Like home, like hearth, like an old friends seen again
This tumbler full of whiskey- this breath of life
—Nick Plumber
The Cocktail Snob
You call this a selection of whisky?
And where is your Old Tom Gin?
Your collection of bitters is lacking,
And your cocktail menu’s a sin,
How dare you call this martini?
With vodka it’s called kangaroo.
And you only have one kind of vermouth?
The one kind you’ve bought just won’t do.
You failed to pour a Manhattan
And that’s a poorly proportioned sidecar;
You dare to say you’re a barman?
You dare to call this a bar?
I presume you wouldn’t think to bill me
As it’s a bill I’d refuse to pay,
Just as I’ll refuse you tomorrow,
Just as I refused yesterday.
Now pour me an aviation
With abundant Crème de violette,
And don’t expect me to pay for that either,
I’m sure it will be your worst one yet.
Perhaps I should drink before I judge it …
Oh yes, it’s your worst one yet.
—Max Sparber
FY, +
Let’s get pig-eyed with drink
So utterly fucked we can’t think
We broke the bank
to fill our tanks
Let’s get pig-eyed with drink
Let’s get pig-eyed with drink
chuck our regal butts from the brink
damnably stank
expertly rank
Let’s get pig-eyed with drink
—We’ll try
to sail these bright
seas til we die
—But why?
Does sailing three
sheets fell the sky
—Because
What it undoes
Is fine with us
We reign in blackout scuzz
So!
Ho!
Go!
Let’s get pig-eyed with drink
Let’s get pig-eyed with drink
So crushingly fucked we can’t think
Find girls to spank
And twist our cranks
Let’s get pig-eyed with drink
—Kevin Maus
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