I didn’t mind the beer or the gin or both
Its bitterness is sweet
It is happiness and bliss
a cocktail of euphoria drowned in sadness
a roundabout of stories and seconds
of life, philosophy and flamboyant tongues.
I don’t mind the cash and consequent credits
I don’t even mind whether I gulp alone or not
It’s fine, doing things by yourself, swallowing your bile,
Yet finer, counting empty bottles of beer with people
laughing of zombie memories and looking at the stars
or the polluted city lights and noise. We all feel
We all have felt that. Like grasping the cotton clouds
with a beggar’s hands, and the mist showing
the visions of your mind.
I do not mind getting drunk.
As long as I can still breathe and haven’t yet passed out.
It seems too unnatural to me.
That an empty bottle cannot match the empty soul.
Or the compulsion wouldn’t be satisfying
If this empty room couldn’t equal the empty space
of this table, and the filled ashtray it holds
It’s a shame for the eerie ashes to be disemboweled
without tribute to the fading spirit that I have.
I raise a glass to the pleasured emptiness
to the fullness of pasts in an empty coffin.
Tonight, I celebrate the paradox of my life.