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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hard Days On In At The Rehab For Drunken Poets, An Opera Of Sorts, circa 1981</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They can't all be like these, I guess.<br>The days are good, though, when they are.<br>The formula is simple really -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We take our ragged bones out of rented rooms for long walks.<br>You point out between bricks the rainbows in windows, the dirt <br>now become your dirt, your genius for transformations. <br>I ram my own by now trite and hackneyed points<br>home over and over, but it works on days like these.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Reprise. Then cold beer in the dying light of <br>a gray bar. The stage is set. Laughter over the <br>wear on those other faces as we shudder behind <br>our own, the usual exchange of wind. <br>Full darkness mutes the swarm and it begins.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Curtain up.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Back inside our rooms, last castrati on the radio. <br>Enter winter under the door crack. <br>This becomes an event, <br>the retelling in high C; <br>'...I guess it's just as well we speak <br>this way in America and call it poetry.' <br>See. I'm ramming it again. <br>Cold breaks my concentration. <br>It's moving up my legs like hemlock. <br>Poetry should do the same. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">OK. I'll get serious. A brief libretto: : </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Today sweet Molly with the black eye<br>and the cut on her breast cried then<br>decided to return home to Bud who <br>beats her when she's drunk. I tried to <br>talk her out of going but she was going <br>and she went. Scherzo here. Interlude. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Johnny didn't come home but drank a beer<br>after court, walked down Highway 25 to see<br>his little girl, called to say he was sorry for <br>being late. 'You can't come back, Johnny.<br>You been drinking again.' Coloratura. And gravel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Joe vomited honey and banana in bed, a real mess.<br>I caught most of it in a trash can held up to his head. <br>He roared when he wretched. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I've vomited more years than I've lived them' he said, shaking. <br>'I'm a damned drunk and I'll die a damned drunk.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535590" data-title="Hard Days On In At The Rehab For Drunken Poets, An Opera Of Sorts, circa 1981 de Warren Falcon" data-description="They can't all be like these, I guess.
The days are good, though, when they are.
The formula is simple really -

We take our ragged bones out of rented rooms for long walks.
You point out between bricks the rainbows in windows, the dirt 
now becom..."></div>
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