Let’s get drunk and mess around.

Let’s get drunk and mess around.
by Smokey Farris

Let’s get drunk and mess around.
with my eye patch
and my wooden
“Hubba Hubba,”
was never spoken,
so meekly,
or with such a bad
pirate accent
but it was whispered,
and it sounded sweet
and heartfelt.

You forgot
to fidget last night
and I was so looking forward
to the vibrations
you make
that massage my back,
and seep within
my porous structure
and awaken my nerves.
Excitement lingered around
in the doldrums
that surrounded your
night light
and night wind.
Gaseous shadow dancers,
egg breakers,
and the homeless,
one and all they
permeate your optics
and lull you into

Makes it easer to sleep,
Doesn’t it?
Every moment
that fails to exist,
or live up to the expectations
of the sleeping bums
who lie awake outside
your bedroom window.
The night speeds up,
but that’s about it.
Just enough so you think
that there must be something
wrong with it.

Are they just getting
hot and bothered
by something that actually
smells good?
Or is it the red
tattoos on their faces
made with cat claws
designed to lure them
to the warm bodies
of older more drawn out
semi-nude, dangerous women.

Women who have lost
their political balance
in the chemical
playing field.

Women who fill the
void in there beds
with extra pillows.

1 thought on “Let’s get drunk and mess around.

  1. Sleep is not only a theme park for dream, but a purgo-spawn point where fears, emotions, lusts, and courage grapple in the grey darkness of psychosis. Do we ever awake and enter into reality unscathed and unchanged? I think it lingers with us and shapes us.

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