Two bottles. One bottle. Much the same lie

and baby,
just so it’s written,
you know,
just so i got it
down on the line.

I knew
along the eastern highway
i knew
half way through the drive
and
half way towards
the end
of the thing.

I’ve been a stupid man since
birth, old woman
old woman
and
now, at two parts done
or three parts done
without a handle on wheel…

well,
it’s not the sweetest
thing to say
but it was not
the sweetest time
and although
we mostly
rode our way
lost
and without light
and
we decided to ride
through the dance hall
alone,
a metre or two apart.

and even
without
your rough metal skin
and the nights
and america
i have heard you cry
at the distance
as far away as the
laughter.

without your
wine soaked shirts
your drenched joy
your legs
keeping the warmth in the night
still
it sometimes echoes.

you
with your cold face failure
and your hunger;
what is it,
three years,
five….

sometimes
most times
in the middle of a long straight drive
a little Nina
comes on the radio
and sometimes, most times,
without moving my lips
i let her take me
and you
back.

Two bottles. One bottle. Much the same lie

Martin Lost

South Yarra, Australia

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  • PJ Ryan
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