the miraculous alcoholics get the epic drunk
winepressed by the wild sea called drunkenness,
drinkingsonged by neptune's spuming muses
who brew super typhoons and blow their tops
off lava domes in the aleutians, they rest
our heads amidst their dead in medias res,
their bottlefield a vast expanse,
an iliad of glass. on halfdesperate lark,
wrecked heads as hammered as hammerhead sharks
spin on bodies passedout, depantsed. they stand up and dance
as if some fool lit rude fuses.
they boomerang from beer pong to beer bong,
veer from beers too strong to beers brewed wrong.
o swordsmen crossing swords on neighbor's lawns.
o beers frigid as fjords, staining sunsets bronze.
Matt Schumacher
