I Stare

I stare from out of a miserable hangover     
bedroom losing darkness
a fair maiden cracks the blinds
letting in the late afternoon sun.

I stare from out of my messy skull
an asylum of ill memories
the wind tosses tree tops
and the dark blue humpbacked mountains
are still.

I stare from out of a eulogy of whiskey
my soul broken in the sheets
dreaming of the next big erection
I taste the scarred lips of defeat.

I stare from out of a glass window
thinking of Death and all his joys
whom, like a jealous little boy,
teases to take away his toys -
never to let you play again.

I stare . . .