My Conversation With Four Roses

My Conversation With Four Roses

 

 

It was a Four Roses,

with Black and Tan chaser

kind of night.

The whiskey tasted like lips

searching for a kiss,

the beer went down smoothly,

like a warm embrace.

After the third shot,

words,

long held inside,

flowed on the page

as my pen began to speak

in a foreign tongue.

“Yo soy muy loco

en la cabeza.”

 

But I knew this already

since the shadows in my room

often spoke to me,

told me weird stories,

and invited me into their dark spaces.

They promised me

my words would always flow,

be smooth like whiskey

drawn straight from the barrel.

They promised my heart would

roam the stars,

feel love, the way Keats

wrote Brawne’s name in the sky.

 

I toasted the shadows with

another shot of Four Roses,

ate their sweet aroma,

spread their petals

across my heart,

and drank the final beer,

I realized

I really am,

“loco en la cabeza”,

cause I walked right into

that darkness,

embracing its oblivion

with the last shot

of Four Roses,

holding the blue rose high.

 

Aztec Warrior/redzone 3/2019

 

Author's Note

....thanks for reading

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I'm not much of a drinker myself, but we all know the writer-stereotype of hitting the bottle to enhance one's art. Many such msgs seem to be fairly dark and that's why I love yours all the more becuz you really shine a bright detailed light on that euphoria that overtakes us, that feeling of having writing super powers, falling in love with every dumb thing we throw down on the page. Even tho you wrote this well to commemorate the drinking writers, this could be any intoxicating influence on any form of art . . . even a fan who won't tell you when your art stinks. I could go on & on. Your writing does that to a person! *wink! wink!* Fondly, Margie

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i don't write with this much imbibing...i just pass out...
the words are in the bathroom throwing up...
i will embrace the oblivion and write later.
j.