Wednesday, October 10, 2012

The Glass Bottom I

I slammed the Stoli bottle
on my desk like a gavel,
judging angels; judging me.
I let the hundred proof heat melt
the cold words in my throat;
the cold thoughts in my heart.
It's not a battle; not a war nor fight.
It's a luxurious apocalypse
of personal proportions.
One that can't be stopped 
by intervention
divine or otherwise.

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