Blood falling
Down
Down
Down
Onto the little glass shard
of my dads broken
shot glass
I don’t know
why I do it.
I never have real answer
when people ask..
“To forget”
“To punish”
“To feel better..”
Those are the most common answers..
But I had a reason that night..
Everything was failing..
My friends
My relationship
My grades
My room was a mess
I kept getting grounded..
That night my uncle was in town
He was my dads friend but him and
my dad were so close they
were blood brothers.
I don’t remember how he found out..
If I told him
If he saw the glass shard
from the shot glass
I can’t remember.
All I remember is him taking it from my hands
And telling me that I was gonna be ok..
“This will go on my shelf”
“It has my blood on it.”
“That’s alright sugar”
“Why on your shelf?”
“To show how far you’ve come from this moment”
“Don’t tell my parents..”
“I won’t.”
That was the first time
I’ve seen him cry.
And when he isn’t here on earth anymore..
Well..
I don’t want to think about that.
To my Uncle Robert.
The crazy old man
I’m happy to have.
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.
Deep down inside her earthen throat.
God fashioned a pearl-hearted railroad...
Her freight train soul gifted to the world.
A bouquet of thorns and blue-hearted roses.
An existence of devilish fire and heavenly rain.
Shot glass and needle and rose-stemmed champagne.
Blood falling
Down
Down
Down
Onto the little glass shard
of my dads broken
shot glass
I don’t know
why I do it.
I never have real answer
when people ask..
“To forget”
“To punish”
“To feel better..”
Those are the most common answers..
But I had a reason that night..
Everything was failing..
My friends
My relationship
My grades
My room was a mess
I kept getting grounded..
That night my uncle was in town
He was my dads friend but him and
my dad were so close they
were blood brothers.
I don’t remember how he found out..
If I told him
If he saw the glass shard
from the shot glass
I can’t remember.
All I remember is him taking it from my hands
And telling me that I was gonna be ok..
“This will go on my shelf”
“It has my blood on it.”
“That’s alright sugar”
“Why on your shelf?”
“To show how far you’ve come from this moment”
“Don’t tell my parents..”
“I won’t.”
That was the first time
I’ve seen him cry.
And when he isn’t here on earth anymore..
Well..
I don’t want to think about that.
To my Uncle Robert.
The crazy old man
I’m happy to have.
I search my purse for money or credit cards.
Discovering four brochures from September
Receipts from the veterinarian clinic with dog tags
Twelve poem ideas jotted on a red napkin
A used toothpick with gum at the end of it
Four pens that do not write
One pen that writes which I can usually never find in this purse
A blue dog collar
Battered melted peanut butter cup
Sticky roll that has escaped a baggie
House key I do not remember having
Grandchild’s pink and yellow headband
Shot glass, but why? I do not drink.
Two outdated postage stamps
The popped pieces of an orange balloon
Should I clean this fiasco?
No.
I just found my credit cards.
a blood-letting sun
sets as slow as an amber tear
in a shot glass
dotty is lost in oz
ruby slippers
run on a treadmill
of long summer evenings
avocados turn brown
drowned by a late light
a vein is open
watching eyes water
over a crimson gash
a gush
bleeds out
into a hoodwink
then sinks inside
a darkening cowl
an infant
wails
in a witch's
scrawny arms
none see
the birthing knife
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.
So many echoes within glass walls;
I kind of wish my mind would quiet,
a shot glass is thrown my skin crawls;
Spider web hearts but I deny it;
You took away my love language,
bullets explode I start a riot;
Destruction somehow eases outrage
in the end it was always my choice;
It’s a path, the way out of a cage;
I’m not meant to be one of your toys,
those games I drown inside my voice.
shot glass empty
spirits dwell in lunatics
the moon is half full
I am not much of a follower,
but today I am following Rabbi Jesus;
he has taken off his sandals,
and I am wearing them for this
borrowed moment.
He said: I Am The Door.
Jesus may be the last human being,
the rest of us following after the fact.
That which was, is, and has yet to be
- all just a shot glass of moonshine.
A vision of a winding file of us all
(both shoeless and shod),
entering that Door;
angelic sheepdogs nipping at our heels.
Maybe I’ll be one of the slackers
at the back of the line?
I won’t mind much,
as long as I see that Door
shutting out this hell of a world
forever.
Shots fired drive by
Shots injected inoculations
Small consumption of alcohol
Shot glass
Projectiles
Tactical shots fired
9/6/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
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.
taking all of my pills
and vitamins to fill
a shot glass
chasing them to stop
the things that are
chasing me
with
a bottle
of wine
Water in a shot glass,
whiskey in a water bottle;
Dial down a wildfire,
slow down a waterfall;
So blurry , feel a little crazy
a little hung over on the kool aid
another shot of whiskey;
Soul kiss melts slowly on the lips
like ice water on a flame;
Water to numb the fire
ice to stop the pain;
Trying over and over ;
Crying harder and harder
she knew no one would miss her,
muffled under that water;
And in an instant she was gone,
drowned in the blood in the whiskey;
Knowing no one cared,
she didn’t mean a thing;
No one would miss her.
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
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