I sit here
staring down this cynical cocktail
sneering with memory just trying
to avoid the ache
memory pulls
like the bodies of old girlfriends
old bones old dreams
I’m killing the ghosts in my head
but still wanting that haunting
sad when they leave
so I eat my screams
feeding the spirits on my shoulder
twisting the olives green
letting the vodka mix with ink
while the vermouth slips down smooth
and I just have to laugh
at myself again
like I always do
my footsteps fade before I get to the street
cigarette smoke licking the buildings
as glass smashes on the ground
there’s a martini on the sidewalk
and my shoes haven’t had a drink in weeks
silence of clear circuits
watching power lines hum
and I’m wondering if the blueness in my veins
is poison
or if it’s just another mix
for the next drink I sip
Marcel Feldmar 