Technicolor Yawn

we all have those moments of glory,
throwing up in sinks while
some stranger rubs our back,
and tell us we'll be ok,
his or her voice
spinning like the world
around us

we all those moments of glory,
tumbling down by the
doorway on a cool night,
muttering an address and
some curse words,
onlookers trying to decipher
the sounds as if we were
possesed by some demon and
speaking in tongues

we all have those moments of glory,
half-conscious on hardwood in
a stranger's home, curled like a fetus 
begging for a return to a comfortable 
womb, covered by our own
technicolor yawn

we all have those moments of glory,
swinging fists as a strange
face shakes us awake and voices
from another room are shouting,
"we really can't take you anywhere,
can we?"

we all have those moments of glory,
cake flying through the air
landing on the floor, the celing,
the refridgerator and our face,
laughing because we have no idea
where we are 

we all have those moments of glory,
apologizing to a host for making
a such a spectale of ourselves and
trying to convince him that this
is the first time, the only time
and the last time we will do to
ourselves

we all have those moments of glory,
waking up, eyes adjusting to the light
of the bathroom, catching glimpses of
the shipwreck in the mirror,
vomit on our shirts forming lost contients,
lost worlds and lost histories contained
in each

we all have those moments of glory,
a police officer knocking on our door the day
after, quickly trying to trace the steps
we made in the dark but, the trail is
obscured by dirt and shame,
the man in blue tells informs us
of slashed tires and 
a neighborhood vandalized

we have those moments of glory.