days of dayquil, nights of nyquil

goddamn french, why can't i get this wine bottle open...either the cork gives way and slides nicely into the blood red liquid or i start drinking drain cleaner...i start inhaling redi-whip, i start gunning robitussin, i find some airplane glue, old weed, shoe polish, rat poison...listening to two dollar lay, and as hot time harv says, "for two bucks i'll go all the way"...i could put on some pants and stumble to the bodega, but what good would that do...the emptiness can only be held at the door for so long...the hours flowing feverishly like the bloated river...swallowing up the white-trash on its banks...there goes ole mark twain, floating by on a riverboat, chuckling at the confusion and human misery...laughing at your pain from an estate in connecticut, twirling his mustache...to hell with this place, it isn't a far fall...where is the fucking snow! what happened to the februaries of my youth that would freeze you out, knock you down, and spit in your frozen face...the expensive vodka is gone and only my whithered face remains...