Best Shot Glass Poems
I've got a medicine cabinet
doubling as my bedside table
to where I'm able
to store my Bacardi white rum
in case I wake up
teary-eyed and screaming
in the middle of the night
from a dream
I wasn't preferring
My heart's a shot glass
that no one wants to take all of
so they sip me
and I burn them mercilessly
leaving little time in this
'pour me another' romance
for intimacy
So if a shot glass cracks
as it struggles to keep up
with the names
to the all the lips it touches
does anybody care?
Or is it just
a morning after
mindless answering machine message stare
into one more window
that shows fractured life
through chipped glass
And if a shot glass
falls off a table
shattering on the floor
in an empty bar
three hours past cut-off
does it make a sound?
Well
I set my alarm for
four a.m. after a heartbreak
and I put a pitcher to my chest
to check and see
and yes
a shot glass does indeed
scream when it's smashed
But it also has the capacity
to laugh
and it particularly purrs
when it's led
by two loving female fingers
to a VIP room
And later
my body interrogates it
about the experience
because the heart
always feels things
a few seconds faster
than everything else
So a shot glass
glowing alone
on a neon bar sign lit table
is just reporting
the days news
to the extremities
And a pitcher
is just another way
to say
'I'm still alive'
And a medicine cabinet
is just a place
to keep secrets
that keep you that way.
And your body
is only the bridge between
real, emotional, and spiritual
Making alcohol the lubrication
to which we use
to slip in between two opposite lives
And planning to leave one behind
would be like begging
for our shot glasses
to cut our lips
with mis-matched romances
and flowers playing themselves off
as people pretending to be
'forget-me-please's
It's too bad the glass
can be both half
of empty and full
simultaneously.
The day i bought a new shot glass
I wondered what happened to all my shot glasses
I remember one that looked like a wooden barrel my favorite
and the others what happened to them
I could feel the cold evening I could hear the footsteps behind me
I could hear the brushes in the sky painting the evening
I heard you wink your eye as you fastened rings on your ears
and brushing back your hair as if no one cared except you
The next day i bought you a new dresss
a courtesy in the mirror is what it cost My throat sore coughing sneezing the cold wind will hurt and the
rain I pulled into the liquor store bought some brandy and a shot glass.
forging this long lustful loving line into luck
i sta er
art mm
by ha
ply gh
ing ou
this en
sen t
ten ho
ce en
in wh
to en
a th
very hot fire
it
in
to
a
ho
rse
shoe
for luck
I’m a fan of that background sound,
the world’s underlying rhythm;
Life’s glass has a melodic rim
amplified with every shot downed;
To the sharps in the air I’m bound,
it’s who I am I’m cool with that;
The wallflower among chitchat,
still I crave the quiet sometimes;
In the moments that static climbs;
solitude can calm a hood rat.
Memories dwell
within low spirits over-
whelmed by suppressed
feelings and unspoken
thoughts that accumulate
into a small ounce
poison juice.
My father craved it,
My mother hates it,
My older brother became
lost in it.
I for one nor hate, craved, or felt lost,
I followed the smell and it lured
me with its delicate scent
and harmless manner.
a sip of its warm
flavor coated
my drained throat,
the taste is somewhat
bittersweet, but
its flames bursts
as it hits
my stomach,
its fragrance strengthens
its resolve causing
my head to spin
in illusive traction,
my body burns
to a hundred degrees,
the intensity latches
onto my lungs
like a bloodsucking
parasite rejuvenating
what's left.
While gasping for air,
I lose consciousness,
blurred vision,
echoes strum
against the walls,
I fall barely holding on,
while whispers travel
along my ears,
as its voice ascends
slowly,
I catch a glimpse
at the shot glass filled
with barrenness,
a once detailed portrait
is now the remains
of a youthful shadow.