muddled wrong

this guy keeps engaging me
in conversation
can’t he see
I’m concentrating –
the precise amount of
revolutions per minute
rpm if you will but
in slow time, that
a good old fashioned
must be muddled at
then caught in midstream
by me, snagged just
under the membrane
of your parting words
a fire inside cut crystal
a muddle gone wrong
too much of the sweet
mash of our days stuck
to the sides of cut crystal
heavy in the hand
heavy in the mind
frozen in the blast of rocks
shouldering for space
in the same glass
we couldn’t last, the cut
of crystal too deep
to hold us in one place
the muddle is important
get it wrong and
it’s just bourbon
with sweet and bitter
fighting for room
amongst the sharp edged rocks
maybe we didn’t get the rpm
quite right, or the cut
was too heavy, too painful
to hold on any longer
he’s speaking to me again
I reply this time –
‘thanks, bartender, I’ll have another’
it’s 14 rpm by the way
in case you meet her
and she asks

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15/02/2016 · 1:51 pm

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