Ill blame a gimlet every time

its

Rose

slipping effortlessly across my tongue

its

quick

quiet gin grinning

                             kidding

                                             poking with sharp elbows

                                                                                         and laughing hysterically but

silently behind the scene

                                            its hand slowly begins to constrict into a fist

                                                                                                                          to pummel

and smash as a drunken fist will

                                               and waking in the morning to bathe it in an ice-water bath

to alleviate its pain and swelling   its purple broken-skin knuckles  ice cubes bundled

in a stale filthy washcloth and held firm against a smashed nose or a split

blood-congealed eyebrow

maybe blaming a gimlet is wrong

an excuse

a tried-and-true gimmick

a gimlet gimmick

                              I said it first

like that    title    that book

                                              Life Without Limits    a christianbook.com brave helping

which Ive dubbed: Life Without Limbits

sardonic

perhaps cruel

but I didnt balance a young man bereft at birth of arms and legs atop a white sheet

against a green grass picnic setting

                                                            and pitch how fucking happy he is

                                                                                                                        grinning

as if he were incorruptible

“A long-time resident of Australia, Nick now lives with his wife in southern California.”

his wife

                    must be a saint!

                                                       

her ID is Nicks wife

how fucking generous

a woman virtually untouched

imagine                                                                                    

            being untouched  unstroked 

imagine

            arms not thrown about you or legs not wrapped around you holding you fast

holding you against your will  willfully

                                                                                                  hair unclasped unpulled

a head not clutched and lips not split on your lips in mad livid passion

and not have that warm delectable dribble of blood wiped gently from the corner of your

mouth or that happy dexterous finger to suck at as it dips into your mouth and plays

with your tongue

Nicks wife

is a fucking saint

but she hasnt a name

shes   Nicks   wife

the gimlet  subtly     

has intruded

Im talking   

with a drink

or maybe this is a talk one can only have with a drink

                                                                                      an entity  

                                                                                                     that neither condemns 

nor  condones                                                                         

                                                                                                     that just listens

                                                                                                                              hears

                                                                                                     priestly

                                                                                                     bartenderly

                                                                                                     friendly

Fucked up!

these Gimlet fists or Gimlet tears

Gimlet gimmicks 

Im adverse to none of them

Ill take whats in store any particular night

my face aint so pretty not to take a punch

my hands are restless  so aint no misgivings when they crunch up and whip out on the

ends of my arms

they aint so pretty either

they got what you might call  character

if I got anything

I got character

and character

is like a real good pair of leather shoes

you can resole and reheel

and an icy gimlets like a good spit-polish shine

refreshing 

the hard-worn leather sucks it up

   0159,  Friday,  31  5. 13          

he asked

and the bartender  scarcely raising an eyebrow  gave him exactly what he asked for

a drink

it bit his tongue before he could swallow

a salty taste of blood   its inherent corrosive viscosity   was overwhelming

like getting bit in the mouth by an angry snake

the chill of the icewater chaser was latent 

after pausing   just long enough to be sure his tongue wasnt going to swell and choke

him to death he asked

                                    What the fuck was that

the barkeep smirked  I really ought to call it that  Its what you asked for it yeah

Yah  Though typically everyone falls short

Save the flattery  If you really mean it I prefer a fat tip

there  that was the direct and honest transaction he loved which were falling away 

that the glib and cheap have threatened 

that ciphered the line between who he preferred to share his time

                                                                                            

                                                                                             he was less and less in public

because the public was less and less worthwhile or intriguing

he was holding out

                                holding out for the Whitmanesque   the passionate fullbloodied Men 

and Women

whose audacious minds and bodies were like swollen fall melons cradled in the warm

earth  trembling to explode

the public  now surly  drifting round and round him like motes or seeds  were emaciated 

sucked dry

tinder  waiting on a spark that would bond them in flame or turn them to black

withered ash

it seemed though to-day  ash was more imminent

however   his mind countered hopefully   ash is requisite for good mortar to erect new

edifices 

                                                                                          to what     remains unanswered

he spider-holed up  (appropriating their language)  and watched and worked diligently

deliberately 

                     when someone chose to obfuscate a simple matter he challenged them

he used their talking points discretely 

                                                               he cobbled them to other like talking points and

revealing those sources he garishly exposed them along thoroughfares and at

intersections on the ends of tall pikes as History had advised him

his hope  

                     people would be revolted by their presence

it was dirty work

an honest salt-of-the-earth work which could not be bought off

                                                                    it was the embrace   the realization   that fear  

had no purchase or Providence

it was as refreshing as an icecold sock in the mouth

inside out

1348,  Tuesday,  20  8. 13