After Drinking Too Much Gin

When, having showed you out, I sat

down at the table again, I kept going,

almost to the floor;

 

Funny the way everything seems to run in.

 

For example.  It did not

feel like it was the

 

floor that I was headed toward.  No.

 

It was only

 

the floor by accident, by

intervention;

 

as though otherwise, I might have existed in

entirely different terms.  Of

 

illimitable landscapes.  Ever-

broadening horizons.

 

And not just in terms, like this, of up, or down.

 

The melt-off water, in a

single vein, has

 

split the long drive, and outside,

and all around there is a great

 

rushing sound.

Published online March 01 2009.


Poetry Only cover image

This piece was published in ‘Poetry Only,’ the Spring 2009 issue of CV2.

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