Fighting Irony: entry

Ice Dreams (with Recipe for Oblivion)

The past is a glacier
Insomnia: Global Warming
There we are
floating through the Gulf Stream
in the backseat of that car

The past is an ice cube
Remembrance: the sun
There you are
like an insect trapped in amber
waiting to be swallowed
on the playground after dark

The past is a blizzard
Secrets: black ice
Here we go
let go of the wheel, spin
through the hotel room
rented on allowance

Recipe for Oblivion:
Do not go back to sleep!
Walk down those stairs
Pour bourbon over ice–
no longer a metaphor
just something to make it
burn less.
Sit in chair.
Sip.
Stare with glassy Anime eyes
at a stain on the carpet.
Blood?

Forget.