Blog Archive

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

One Too Many

I often wonder what it would be like
to raise a child on bourbon alone.

Forsaking the nipple,
With its preconceived human experience,
In it’s ploy to create like-mindedness,
The breast is a goddamm communist,
Red in every aspect of it’s productivity,
Man doesn’t need to blacklist the human body
To uncover it’s allegiances.

To raise a child on bourbon alone.

It seems natural anyway,
If you think about it,
The bourbon barrel is a womb,
Dark and damp,
The wooden uterus lined
With all sorts of
Mystical growth,
And magical processes,
The corn and mash gestating to
Form new life,
Too supernatural in nature
To fully comprehend.

God made bourbon same as He made women.
Seems right anyway.

It could be the greatest
advance in medicine to
ever occur.
Children reared on the bottle,
Not the plastic kind,
Of course,
It could turn the universe
Right side up.
Hell, we could raise a generation of
Boys and girls with
Morals and fortitude,
And Sainthood in their bones.
To raise a child on Bourbon alone.

It seems so simple now,
The antidote to all sickness,
The solution to all evil,
The salvation of ----

I know.
I know, Lucille, I can hear you!

Guess I’ll put this lowball down,
Take out the trash,
And wonder on it some more. 

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