truth in hours.

I sit on the carpet and

you move a little bit closer,

we sit here all night

talking for hours

talking about everything

talking about the same thing

the hours seem to float by

the hours never certain

nothing seems real

except ice cubes melting

in a pink plastic cup

soaking up cheap vodka

that goes down with a shudder

goes down with a chill

that tastes like memories

of hours long gone that

tasted just like this one,

and we talk about that too,

then you stand up and

go to sleep in your own bed

and I reach no conclusions.

change the song and

raise your glass to mine

toasting to the certainty

of more countless hours

the only answer I find

is the light of the sunrise.

the city wakes up and

I'm falling asleep on your

couch with my coat as

a pillow under a

blanket of questions

rewinding through dialogues

and still just finding suggestions,

trying to find something

that might not be there.

voices sound muffled in these

underwater alcohol soaked

hours and still the only thing
I know that I want is
that I don't know what I want

and the only things I do

don't seem to be real,

existing in romanticized

idealized fantasies and they

keep me floating on

in blind denial,

always excavating some

landscape for buried treasure

on a map that's not real,

and all I ever find is

the promise of more countless

hours with the same drunken

sunrise.

and when you call me again

later that night and invite me to

more music and melting

ice cubes, I knock on your door

still hoping hopelessly for a

different conclusion,

wishing I could count something

that isn't countless;

you open the door

put your hand on my shoulder

pour me a drink

and I'm waiting

for certainty but find

the only certainty

is waiting.

Reviews

[Ryan D. Mosley]

Mr. Gonzo, I continue to find your work wonderfully ironic, and it makes me go crazy with praise to you. I must give you mega kudos for this poem. The continual want for something more that will never happen. Then the ending: "I'm waiting for certainty, but find the only certainty is waiting." That's brilliant. The only thing certain for the speaker is that he will keep waiting and will only spend more nights with "melting ice cubes". Wonderfully written. I continue to love to read your work Gonzo, so don't hesitate to send me something you write. Overall: Great Job!