Shall we raise our glasses
to sentiment uncaptured in the
Hope that bygone woe fades
like a spent cigarette butt?
“Laugh ye scalawag,
and take they wench by her handles!”
Drown my emptiness with indulgence
while I feign interest in your bravado,
twiddling my fingers in pockets of
CHANGE
and find meaning in dirty metal.
The Bird's Song 