this morning i can write,
of the wild boys and girls, that left the bar weaving,
like seasoned boxers, sure of fist and step, dreaming,

this morning i can write,
of an empty glass, that filled up yet again,
will find a way, to flow down, giving energetic gravitas,

this morning i can write,
of friends that remain, even if the picture faded,
of friends that were real drinkers and lovers of men,

this morning i can write,
to you who still wonder where to find the next thing,
break the frame of being, to become one of us