a poem by Korliss Sewer

Blue Moon and Old Dogs

I had bees for dinner. They build honeycomb structures
on my porcelain while I watch the drunks stagger from
the tavern across the street.

They'll be there chuggin' liquor 'til Armageddon.

In my mouth, they sing karaoke to me in their drunken
stupor, and I choke on their muffled words that none of us
will remember. As Armageddon is coming, it won't matter
anyway.

It hangs on every moment,

into steely skies they howl. Round, pockmarked faces beam
upward in inebriated bliss. They spill liquor and urine onto
the floor, sticky smells for me to clean.

© by Korliss Sewer

 
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #10 ~ July 2010