One More (Redux)

Neon shines through smoky eyes tonight,
It's 2 AM, I'm drunk again,
It's heavy on my mind, it's heavy on my mind.

How come neon always goes with heaviness? It seems neon is hung outside places like this one in order to beckon the heavy-laden to come rest. It's late; or early. Regardless . . .

I could never love again,
So much as I love you.
Where you end, where I begin,
Is like a river going through.

Okay, okay, you are right. Maybe I am being a bit dramatic. Or, maybe not. I could never love so much? Yes. No. Maybe. I'm not sure. Well, maybe the words are wrong. Maybe I mean I could never love as . . . I'm not sure. I do know that there was a point, at times, a point in time, a point in time at times, when I didn't know where you stopped and I started--or where you began and I ended. Maybe that is what I am really trying to get at--what I really miss.


Excuse me please, one more drink
Could you make it strong? Cuz I don't need to think.
She broke my heart, my grace is gone
One more drink and I'll be gone

Excuse me, not to interrupt--but one more. Yes, one more will do it--I'm already dizzy and this one will take me to the edge. What edge? The one where thought stops. I'll go over the edge where my body will finally force my thinking--my concepts--my brooding--my analyzing--into submission. Excuse me, just one more, that is all I need.

Why? Well, my heart is broken. Wait. That is too strong. Or, maybe it is too cliche. Why? Maybe because my salvation--the means of grace--has left? I don't know if that is it either. Why? I think it is this: knowing the hope of that salvation was doomed to fail from the beginning; knowing there is no grace for the temporal space which my heart--my-non-self--occupies. I guess I know that my longing for grace was equivalent to my longing for pardon from my condition--the temporal one. I wanted to be pardoned from it--cured of its disease--made whole through unity with another. Is that why it involves my heart? Yes, sir, it is. Thank you for asking. I thought maybe that was the means by which I could be pardoned. I thought maybe her and I could confer upon one another the grace of salvation through moments of incision, confusion, and, yes, the disappearance of thinking. When thinking stops, time has no hold. Yes, I know. When thinking stops you are dead. They are similar. But, I think I thought that salvation could--would--bring time to a stop without killing me.

So, one more drink. One more is all I need to beat down the circle and fall asleep. One more and I'll be okay until the sun rises tomorrow. One more, and I'll be gone. One more and I'll move, but I can't promise I will move on.