God and Whisky, prose poetry by Pablo Cúzco at Spillwords.com

God and Whisky

God and Whisky [sic]

The Flowers of Dawn

written by: Pablo Cúzco

 

The sun rises blurred and wrinkled | headache waves crash inside my brain. Nuclear explosions detonate and a circular saw cuts its path on a plank of rock maple | loud | it sounds like it’s coming from the room next door. Ave Maria! –in full chorale breaks my ears | a death rattle chokes me. I pull myself up. The bed smells of last night. These sunrises have got to stop.

A yellow moon rises over the rooftops–strikes awe in silence. A dark sky melts into streetlights | wine bottles clutter in the alley | a cat howls. Bleary-eyed and laughing | incoherently | I stumble through a pile of yesterday’s good intentions | crowned with a halo of spirits–God and Whisky (the One and the Same) –my head a cap of moon beams.

A rooster crows. In this city its cry is strangled by the roar of the automobile, the rush of the hour | traffic, and a cop who drags cars through the crossroads–the Altiplano, the drifter’s horse, and the gunslinger on L-dopa, playing cat’s-cradle with twisted fingers and an angry gut | a dog’s hair to bite, a pint of Schnapps, a fifth of Tokay–spin dry, cold rinse and repeat.

​the flowers of dawn
seek bliss and release
​find a dark slow suicide

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