Liquid Lust

by Patrick Scott Barnes

Been with this lady for a long time.

Love her more than I love
certain friends and relatives.
Never complains.
Never nags.
Like any other whore
she’s there for me
as long as I have cash.

Don’t mind spending money on her.
Her presence makes me feel good.

Love when she wears Happy Hour.
Cheap Pitcher makes me horny.
Get a real arousal during
Long Island Iced T sessions.

She don’t discriminate.
Loves everyone.
Reason why all races love her.

Stereotype says Irish loves her the most.
Stereotype says Blacks love her
when she sings Malt Liquor.
Stereotype says her favorite artists
hang out in the literary sections.

So, that explains it.
Love for words causes
love for booze.
The more you write,
the more you get hangovers.
The more you pick up the ink pen,
the more you pick up the bottle.

Who makes up this stuff?
What happened to being
mentally screwed up?

Explains most writers, anyway.
Give me a writer
who ain’t socially impaired
and I’ll give you a politician
that don’t lie.

Hope I don’t fall too in love
with my favorite female friend.
Being pussy-whipped last label
I want to wear.

Probably, already is
and don’t know it.
Probably, do know it
and don’t want to admit it.

Wonder how many folks
are like me.
Wonder how many folks
write poetry in bars like me.
Wonder how many folks
are borderline, self-destructive loners
like me.
Wonder if our paths will ever cross
or did it already.

Liquid lust drowning common sense
more and more by the minute.
Sailboat of secret desires vividly floating
too close to
island of dark depressing thoughts.
Regrets and self-hatred
hiding in trees on island
ready to capture my sailboat.
Reason why I end tonight’s
liquid lust.
Decide, to just float on
the smooth booze buzz.
Also, need to be able to drive home.