13th Poem Of The Zookopolis: "A Thirsty Beer Bottle"
A Thirsty Beer Bottle
There comes a point when you stop trying
because the world isn't holding the shine
no matter how much you polish it;
the anguish and homemade brine
is all that's left behind
of the effort and the dream
but even that disappears after a while
as it flows away in competing streams
down damp cheeks
as a crazy man with eyes that stare completely
emerges with a damaged smile.
There's the sound of purple leaves
sweeping October air up the pungent banks
of the lake reservoir
(guarded to the edge by half-undressed red maples);
once clean, now spoiled by unnatural debris
deposited over years by haste and greed.
Can you hear the water whispering
in the gaps of space and time
created by squirrel scampers and sparrow whistles,
as you kneel to offer a thirsty beer bottle
a cold autumn drink
and then slowly watch it sink
as it gains opacity?
Don't know what a human weasel is
but, girl, you got all the qualities,
removing things from bedroom boxes
after cracking the locks
when all you had to do
was ask me for a key.
Then making faces nonchalantly
like a cat that acts matter-of-factly,
as if it ain't ever seen a yellow feather
nor e'er been near an empty cage
muffled by the missing chirps
of an absquatulated canary.
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Re: 13th Poem Of The Zookopolis: "A Thirsty Beer Bottle"
The usual greatness Zook...