Distilled Between 4: 57 A.M. And 5: 15 A.M

it's sometime in the morning, between
blue and black - the sun isn't up, but the sky
almost lies and says so. Happy Days

is on the t.v., some re-run with Fonzie
wearing a Hawaiian ring of flowers around his neck,
and i think: 'i need a catch phrase...'

if only i could say, 'hhhheeeyy' and there
i would be: smooching some girl who i had no intention
of loving.

but the end credits roll before the action
begins, and i'm stuck standing: remote
turning the television off, reeking of cigarettes

and alcohol. oh, another bottle of jack
that will lead me to an empty bed, where drunk enough
i can pretend a pillow is 'anyone u.s.a.'

it is not the easiest way of living, i can
assure you of that. it is lonely and it is

but surrounded by books and friends, i can take a final
shot and say, 'cheers, ' to everything around

here is to you: cheers Tylor, Yves, to Sartre, to Richard,
Hunter S. so and so, to Bukowski, to my

to my will which hands out
C.D.'s and books and clothes that fit
a bit too small.

buy me a tombstone on the moon in some dark
spot that reads:

by Travis Bowden

Comments (1)

Very dark and brooding....I like the end of it. Good write!