wake, drown in drink, sleep, wake, drown in drink, sleep, wake.
the cycle consumes.
the weekends here are kept wet,
in body, in soul, in mind.
we hitched a ride to the oldest pub in Edinburgh to sit coy in boxcar
quaff ale,
gobble ostrich.
refusal brings out the beast in us, lungs tight, clandestine.
a melody sneaks quaintly into our corner.
violins, fiddles, tam-tam's, the traditional bagpipe, a tin whistle.
20 deep, locals have assembled to jam.
to romp, to tap their heels.
transformed into mountaineers, we climb twin peaks.
the rain pours, Ring around the Rosie, we all fall down. mud cakes between lacerations.
steep slope, stone steps carved in 1361.
hands held tight. carrying the weight of the world, we totter until we're upright.
frogs squirm from pavement to grass, wishing us well.
dive into a dive bar full of 15 year olds in poor fashion playing bingo.
He's lost control again. On the floor, again. We gulp as quick as our throats allow.
screaming, scolded.
sip the smoke, grasping the night air, again, we're out.
We galavant to an old movie house.
Intimacy surrounds. One man down, and it's couples therapy. We speak of failure, of loss, of interest,
of socialism. Tarantino looks on.
Two brutes appear in the form of women to ruin the fun. I'm silenced, sensing tension. He abandons me, once again reminded why I keep so cold.
I duck away, hide my face in shame, I cry.
In the water, I am beautiful. I am honest. I am raw.
Bare, introduced to a former self. I close my eyes.
Where have I been?
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