whisky – other animals

and I freeze no matter how fancy the pen or the whisky it’s all the same my lost shoes they say this winter the victims will write history

To Cross the Sea

Bubbling on the stove warm nonsense on TV I misspell the important words of other people’s stories on the line nothing drying my legs sore the floor somewhat spotless what else to binge nothing stops this war

should have had iced coffee but trees start to stumble the hot earth becomes I tell myself breathe look at the leaves completely still August 30

at the end of the day whisky cicada hit send a cool breeze down that road in any direction you end up laughing

the difference between scrap and fragment wind
in the rain in the trees but once I’ve walked up to
this cliff then what maybe later in the day an aching
back full of whisky isn’t the best time to start but
well this is getting too prosaic so get the clipper &
the magnifying glass there’s only one place you or I
can start and that’s with these badly drawn feet
bleeding into the stones of the sharp here & now

fallen leaf scent of unsipped whisky