Three Shots of Whiskey
He weighed his mind,
it had dissolved into a tar pit
and was getting heavier.
He was thirsty, hungry to get away -
from himself.
Three shots later his eyes released him
from their deep-dug jailhouse.
Sooner than expected
the crowded bar emptied,
the saloon rocketing blindly
into a darkening planet.
Outside,
the evening was smeared with red,
low dusky lights hung like a punctured lung.
He walked one step ahead of his shoes.
Back home
he dabbed damp jowls, waiting,
for his mind to wander off
inside a humming keyboard.
Meanwhile he dripped drops
of static silence onto a word
to give it a half-life,
yet only for a moment –
it was going to be a long summer.
but oblivion was only
three shots away.
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