The View from the Alley

. These here are uncommon waters these here are things never encountered. These here are a sit of circumstances never encountered and never planned for. Here there be dragons and monsters and things unplanned and unanticipated. These here be crisis and discontent and blind stumbling down an ugly destructive path. These here be cold hearts. These here be mild interest and, again, self destruction. Hopes gone with the last beer with the last shot. These here be callous inconsideration and misguided dreams. Here be self-interest and unknowing hatred. Unknowing ill-regard. Unknowing non-friends but mostly blind disregard made manifest by the last clutching for meaning. Here there be the you that hurt me. Deliberately. Coldly. Menacing. In blurs. In quick cuts and mostly in ignorance. And delightful callous egocentric blasphemy and cold. The cold that cuts like paper and burns just as readily. Unseen by you, but felt by me, Here there be dragons.

By the time the bar closes

Introduction

UPDATE: Thursday, July 5, 2012 8:58:07 AM. I just noticed that this poem was marked private, from the onset. I must have been embarrassed, or ashamed, or I didn't want people to worry. Opening it up now.

Main Content

By the time the bar closes
I will be four hours older
and four hours drunker.

I will be four hours more disillusioned
and four hours more lonely

By the time I stumble along the aimless streets
nicely buzzed and nicely angrily alone
heading for a cluttered home that matches my cluttered mind
I will be four hours more destitute and angry

and I can only hope to pass out before I have time to think
and remember and ruminate on the shaggy sorry state that
I have created for myself.

by the time the bar closes
I will be four hours closer
to an answer I don’t want to know