Etc. And Some Drunken Poetry

I'm sitting in a Perkins at 1 a.m. For those of you who don't know what a Perkins is (which might be all of you, it's a pretty region specific thing) it's kind of like a George Webb. (Hahah, that's a chain that's only in Wisconsin. I crack myself up.)

Now that I know that it's open 24 hours a day I think I've found a place to do some late night writing. I found some old poetry that I wrote when I was drunk and I'm going to share it because I think it says a lot about all the poetry I write when I'm drunk.

Hope you guys are well. Miss you constantly.

It Hurts

Nothing more than drunken poetry

revelations from an altered state.

I see all options,

I see God, I see the Universe,

even if I can't find my way to the bathroom,

I am sketching out the numbers on my eyelids

that will help me find you again.

And I see the way the insides of my cells pour out,

when I am in an altered state,

the galaxy is suddenly in the palm of my hand,

and nothing is as clear to me as when

nothing is clear to me

little bits of fuzz cloud my vision and

no amount of space is set.

Iowa City is full of drunken revelations,

bits of knowledge brought back from an altered state

saying we are gods,

or men,

or amazing

or following brass deities of capitalism.

and I am so in love,

I am, I am so,

I am so in love,

with absolutely everything,

that it hurts.