Wednesday, April 9, 2014

silent spring





Tonight I let the bourbon sit on my tongue far longer than usual.  The sting is comforting, I enjoy that I have lost the grimace it once gave.  The warmth is expected and I give in and let it wash over me.  Today, my arms ache.  I carry too much as of late, invisible packages with no return labels.  The saloons are filled and glasses have been raised.  My weak arm muscles do not bear the strength to partake anymore.  My anger is directed with clenched fists at the burden left behind as we try to make sense of it all.  With what energy still residing in me I raise the camera to my eye.  The light is as warm as the sugar in my glass. I do not want to miss a drop.  I think she knows.  Without a complaint she sits for me and allows my lens to capture the ever-fleeting here and now, replaced by gut wrenching pain and longing for what once was.  Tonight we let the music play and pour some more. 

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