TO THE POINT
Vodka will be the cliff notes to the evening.
I do not have time for a book of beer.
Let’s get straight to the point,
Without regret, without planning or fear.
Dostoevsky put down many a fine word
And what he said is beautiful.
If I had the time, I’d take those words
And swallow them by the mouthful.
But I don’t and I won’t.
This ain’t no Sunday drive.
It’s a staggering journey
To a happier time.
As Old Man Partridge once said,
“I can’t slow my mind down fast enough.”
And if you’ve ever felt like that
Well then there's a chance
You just might want a drink with us.
If I had a leisurely span,
I’d just relax,
Stop and chat with the man
At the mailbox
In front of the house
Maybe answer the phone,
Check messages, but no.
Not today.
This isn't Dostoevsky,
It’s a Bukowski short story
Or even just a poem
Straight and hard hitting
Cutting the bone.
I’m looking for an article
Of inspiration,
Not a self-help book.
This is do-it-yourself.
I don’t believe I need instruction.
All the bottles unscrew counter-clockwise
And the glasses I can handle.
Rocket ship or street car?
Simple tonight, that.
This ain’t a tourist scene
This is from A to Z.
From me to you
And you to me.
And if you ain’t runnin’
You won’t catch up,
I’m out, I’m gone,
I’m years along.
When McFoster said,
“Walk your beat copper,
I’m going to run.”
I think I know just what he meant.
I’m going to take advantage of,
And get away with,
Everything I can.
So I fill my glass
And raise a toast
A temporary truce
with the rest of the world.
From high atop a drunken peak
We'll let our flags unfurl.
We’ll stay up rejoicing
Taking bows,
Celebrating our lives.
And if we do it just right
When we are good and tight,
Steal back a piece of lost time.
So I’ll see you there
At the speed of doubles
Burn down this bitch
And dance in the rubble.
Throw your glass to the sky
With the rest of your mind
We'll make our stand
And toast this night.



