I started drinking alone,
Around eight,
Laughed alone with the lights
Along the walls,
Accompanied by wavelengths,
And the diaries of authors encased in dank frames,
While friends simmer
With soon to be wives
Others marry their careers,
These unions allied against death.
And everyone’s life,
Going exactly according
To the standard plan.

I open a bottle of wine
One I was saving for a special occasion,
An engagement,
Or being published,
But a forgettable,
Easily misplaced,
Night of a young man’s life,
Will suffice.

Death arrives,
Fleeting in and out
(I can only understand him
For small moments of time)
But the wine provides courage,
Abiding the fear,
And I consider him.

I will be this ill equipped ape
When I face him,
The final time,
When it’s not flirtatious
But an appointment instead,
Will I be burnt,
Used up,
And ready?
Or will I hold regrets,
Each one
A mental burden
Marking clearly
Failures of the most permanent,
Unforgiveable, and unchangeable,
The unrelievable weight of finality.

I awake,
Sort of,
Consciousness loads slowly,
But the hangover hits immediately.
I get up,
Arm outward as I let
A long stream of piss
Fill the toilet.
The bottle of wine is empty
And whatever wisdom it gave me,
Gone.

Why can we only hold,
One parcel of wisdom,
In our heads at a time?
If only we could grasp
Multiple truths at once
At all moments,
What failures we could erase,
What decisions we could execute,

What gods we could be.

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Donovan James is a writer, musician, cat enthusiast and psychonaut. He is still an idealist, despite a ravaging cynicism. He believes that the money and effort allocated to war and fear should be used to feed, shelter, and educate the poor, no human being excluded. His work has appeared in Commonline Journal, and Monkey With A Hat On theater productions. His book of poetry, Saudade, can be purchased here.