Tequila And A Monkey

   
   
   
He said it best    
when he questioned her    
affection for his "keyboard kiss"    
& the bastard    
threw the real life, at the page    
what would it be like    
with children    
with the nine to five    
with the tar from the street life    
coming out    
pumping volcanic molten lava    
where blood used to dwell?    
   
I'm nursing a Mopane worm    
keeping it drowned    
using a camel packet
to keep the balance
solid    
   
I know; I said, I wouldn't    
it is monday after all    
God when    
the deathly deafening silence    
hits this house    
like a cricket-less acoustic science    
A man has to rely on    
the sounds the bottle makes    
when it hits the table    
   
Three quarters of the liquid shakes    
   
   
Thank god the boss    
interrupted the elbow movements    
making the brain feed it's    
imagination    
   
   
   
   
But that's over now    
I have time    
time to tell a woman    
time to tell a woman, she's turning my tar    
into blood    
time to tell a woman, she's turning my pump into a heart    
time to tell a woman, I've waited for her to get home from work    
(I don't know how far work is, or if it's needed)  
   
I do know, I made excuses of it    
An excuse to make this worm swim    
quarter way down the bottle    
An excuse to slap three    
full volume buttons on a Agro CD  
   
   
An excuse to blast death metal at my neighbour    
fuck him! He should kill silences too    
God knows he has good taste in music    
I make sure of it    
   
My mind wonders back to my watercolor    
canvass of an old spirited soul    
with gifts of real value to give    
   
I stare at the pressed metal ceiling    
trying to figure    
trying to figure if this is me    
trying to figure if this is me    
living a bastard with a princess's poetry; or    
if this me finding my own real life poetry    
   
For now    
for now this me is living the poetry I know;    
for now this me is living a dream;    
living a dream    
I took six years to write    
   
   
The worm is lying in the dry    
bottom of the    
   
cold    
empty    
   
bottle    
   
   
   
   
I'll say "good morning"    
            later    
   
   
   
-x-    
   
   
Note:-  
This was written especially for the confessions competition. It was published here by request of a reader. Can't let a good reader down. [drops mic; exits stage left] *muttering*  
   
deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/9142/