Foul Year Poem

It’s just another drunken day in this “foul year of our lord” * 2005
And it feels lucky to be alive.
Faces with empty glasses, empty glances
Alone in this world
In this city
In this body of mine
Broken inside out.
Loneliness like some strange disease
Creeps inside the spaces left empty
By all the poems unwritten
All the women unkissed
Bundles of remorse and days spent
Wallowing weary in the drunken sun.
Streets drenched in dirt of days
Dreams broken into thousands, distant like old songs.
I walk silently on corners and concrete streets
Drum beats and saxophone howls echo through
Broken by wheels, passing faces.
Broken people. So many hungry people
Like deserts scaly animals brown. Strange looking plants.
Water hidden deep invisible unseen.
The strips of light turn dark
Sad faces moving inside stand facing doors of homes and rooms
Frozen, for fear of drowning in sad tears
Beds burning with heat of necessity.
Cities and coasts fallen under siege.
Beat up cars overflowing with wine and green and young red dreams
Like ancient sailboats cruise around
Visions of strange ports in cities faraway
Never-ending waves of love and laughter
Threads of music.
We find ourselves stranded every time
On the strange shores of our doorsteps
The journey ends here
Drunken twilight
Old cab drivers preaching morning wisdoms
I’ve seen it all before
I’ve seen it all before.
This “foul year of our lord” 2005.

* Hunter S. Thomson – Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.