“In Between the Whisky Sweats”
 
A dead man’s music
is my best friend now,
and he becomes less
deceased with each sip
of cheap whisky
(a plastic bottle
so many walked by,
believing in the recommendation
of something aged
12 or more years
from the cashier
at 11:30 AM),
so that the silence
is left dreaming of one day
when it’ll make
the most beautiful music
and we’ll be the ones
with nothing left
to say.