Drinking Song

The baton stirs the twist of sharp and flat

Until the sound, the lights, the taste of it all is a whirpool in a glass

Assertive hands bob above the brim manipulating this waxy yellow rind

Until bursts of sweet sour sound break at the mouth of the bay, my bay

Stringing through the lips, then through the ears and the nose

Through the salty crevices between the fingers

Eroding away at the incessant voices that speak to me in tongues

At a volume that soils every synapse

Usually I let my mind sink everything

It’s seasickness. Sorry.

But all at once this deafening triumph and muted blur

Travels down stream, permeates my every pore

And scrapes away at my banks

Until I’m wide and still

Drowning with drunk

Drunk with drowning

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