Sloe Gin Fizz


life is but a dream

and no one

on earth

can prove


and when we wake up

it’ll be all over

it is that


we will wake up dead

as a rotten tree

as a newborn blade of grass

sprouting up through the earth


on the other hand

if you stay asleep long enough

and sleep deeply enough

you wake up just like now


with a sloe gin fizz in your hand

(out of a glass you just rinsed

off from the sink you drank milk

out of earlier that has a little milk residue left

on it because you ran out of clean glasses in the cupboard)

putting pennies on dead men’s eyelids

so they don’t open

and stare at you

throwing pennies in the wishing well

for vain wishes you make when drunk

laying pennies on the railroad tracks

flattening them for petty souvenirs

(drinking sloe gin straight out of the bottle with a bag over it)

walking on the gravel

on one side of the parallel rail road tracks

(that seem to go on and on straight to distant oblivion)

seeing the red light warning

dangerous roaming


reckless adolescence

lighting up another match

smoking cherry cigars in the darkness

breezy wind

hooting owls

(lizards moving and watching all this safe and secure from the bushes)

I hear

the train a comin’

and you feel the ground rumblin’

and hear its air horn


(much louder than a diesel truck)


I remember it well

time was on my side

it really was

way back then


if I could visit that place of death

(and I did think a little about it back then but not near as much as now)

and see what it was like

and talk with those (angelic beings) I’m told are there

waiting to guide you and comfort you

without having to stay there


(five minutes would be quite enough I believe)

I might not be afraid anymore

I might even look forward to that out of body experience

(we all are doomed to take)


those ‘things’ keep peeking in my window

(those UN-explainable weird things or happenings)

that won’t leave me alone

and I don’t know why they persist

in rattling the cage

(I’m locked up in)

I just wish they would go away

fly over to the neighbor’s house

(and go bug him for a while)

cause’ it’s not my imagination

running wild

it’s just something

goin’ round’




(floating in the air above my head

yanking my chain)

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