Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Dog—sick as a dog
Tail between legs—butt scraping floor
Adding barf to arf
Poor joke—not funny
I apologize—not funny
Give me a blanket, a rug
Sweep me under it—dowse me with warm
Water please don’t pour cold
Water on me please—please I promise
To be good—Christian—I’ll think pure thoughts
Never get caught up in music again never
Keep pouring from the $15 dollar bottle never
Massaging the shapes of women dancing on the
Dance floor to all that infectious beat and almost wordless
Vocals that just torrent from the big-busted gal’s mouth
Oohing aaaahing nah-nah-nahing and I’m crazy fogged
In my own little mind I enwrap my own little
Mind around the whole damn world all the sweet
Legs twisting bopping sliding riding the rhythm
And what a tight loose green dress and what
A pink blouse fit----oh last night---oh
I’m sick—no difference in the taste of wine
In the morning in the mourning in the belly deep mire
Of what I imagine is my hiccup of a soul
Splattered in my bed ricocheting savage drumbeats
Oh is the only word groaning in the mourning
Yes guilty yes I’ve pissed away the moon and stars and any
Nice seductive conversation with elena verdugo who
I kinda liked personally yea---all gone any chance of
Happiness----dog whimpering---no one likes a dog
Whimpering---I’ll be let out---kicked in the rear out
Mangy f**k**g dog ----get away---don’t hump my leg

The morning is always different than how you imagined it would be, especially after some of the best nights..

the hangover of a long life
replete with dance and dogs
and all the other thoughts that travel
'tween the ears some mornings

Today's too much never justifies the next day's misery.
But we do such things under the guise "I needed that"...