“A Happier Thought”
 
The bottle would break itself
before it ever broke my heart,
and that always seemed
a happier thought
than paying too much
for half dead funeral flowers
at the supermarket
or pretending the first drink
didn’t feel like a kiss
after another inoffensive day.



“lowercase versus uppercase poetry”
 
if i can stay on the black decaf
then the poems will stay brief
and professional as ironed slacks
on a monday
but if somehow
the whisky sneaks out
of my cupboard
like a teenager breaking curfew
it won’t matter
that it’s only tuesday
and my words won’t care
about shakespeare
doing it better than most
(according my old high school
english teacher anyway)
or the way a hangover is
the kind of muse
most let die of thirst
even if it means
another photocopied sonnet
sort of day