A Poem I Wrote When I Was Drunk
by Shaun Terry
Light amber honey
runs down freshly waxed slides.
Clouds in the distance
are punctuated by opal and diamond chandeliers.
Off-beat heart palpitations
chase down living hopes and fears.
Perhaps diamonds were rhinestones, after all.
Red, ripe figs flake and call.
Soft, unspoken words
tie bricks to untold stories
forever lost on the margins of romance.
Children’s games on grassy recesses
turn to sweaty glasses
between plaster and plywood,
on springs between pillars.
Everyone’s forgetting themselves,
building legends in their minds,
hoping to find life’s answers
to all which escapes daytime delusions:
their living hopes and fears,
their inescapable cognitions
of bitter bittersweet honest, inescapable, unintended reality.