Whiskey Tuesday

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On the couch with a glass bottle role model.
A citizen declared as it starts.
A home without leaving puts
Slivered wood in the heart.
A sunrise is seen from the water,
Wicker chairs on the roof.
As whiskey Tuesday puts a damper,
On what’s real and what’s 100 proof.
The wind is still real,
It sweeps by on my brow.
Until it’s dark, the moon arrives,
Then nothing matters anyhow.
Locked in a homeless house,
Deep and far away.
At least thats how it feels,
When the smoke fills the ashtray.
Forced, under good cause,
To take care of the weak.
“Don’t forget to go for a walk,”
Or you won’t be found for weeks.
Sounds of scaped lawns,
And the welcoming bloom of May.
Makes my trains of thought forget,
12 weeks of whiskey Tuesday.

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