the air reeks of cheap beer,
how many men can man you one man
pouring all that down onto me?
Don’t throw your voiceless stares at me –
that empty glare,
a puzzled flash over my
hot head bubbling with words
hopping frogs waiting to be picked up by someone –
Your hand scoops my brain out of its shell and
throws it up into the dark, dark night sky:
the frogs get lost; they never find their home again,
the shell of my head
dissolving in all that alcohol we
were swimming in been in the bin
for three years.