(date unknown)
We drink too much
Yet not enough,
And always
The wrong stuff,
These thoughts
Rattle around
In our heads
Like ice cubes
In an empty glass,
Deperate to refill
But don’t know how,
Rubbing it
As if a bottle
From which a genie
Might pop out,
If we rub
Long and hard enough,
Emptying into
The palms of our hands,
The white wine we
Ache to drink,
We drink too much
And rub too hard,
Aching for wishes
We have not yet earned,
Drinking in this passion
For something we know
Will explode from us
At any moment.
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