Enough

I'm getting drunk. I've had enough. Just let me go
To take my seat out on the deck, and watch the sun
Begin its suicidal plunge into the waiting bluff across
The valley, past the Platte. I want some time to mourn
The love, which almost is, but cannot be, the body
Which once was so strong, but proves itself quite feeble
Now, the open book of time, its final pages far away,
Unwritten, as opposed to what I read, its ending
Looming now. Let me, with liquor, fantasize that
My love wriggles into being, and my life, lived to
Its end, ends, not here upon these dreary plains,
But on a beach caressed by waves, and I,
See them, not bluffs, and read the book to its
Conclusion, which makes clear that drunkards
Die frustrated, as does everybody else.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 238 times
Written on 2019-04-19 at 03:16

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