Another Tuesday Night

by Darren Colbourne

It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m sharing a kiss
With Sandburg and Bukowski in a crowded room
Because they captured perfectly
What everyone else manages to waste in conversation
And their pages are cracked sawdust mirrors
Reflecting unfamiliar faces that wear
All too familiar looks, looks of fear
Distrust, sadness.
Something must pass away
Before it can be reborn
And so we play act a giant funeral
For Time herself;
We cry into stale refreshments
At missed or forgotten tidings
And pin every hope on a future character
Whose lines even she knows not.
I kiss them
Because it seems wrong
To love so openly at a funeral;
Because I live between binges and bottles,
Razorblade stomachaches and hangovers,
Where death’s a skipping record needle
And rebirth
Is just a name to toast at three in the afternoon
As you chase the medicine down with water,
And they don’t need love
To understand that.

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