Empty beer bottles begin

                              to pile up

                    in the deep recesses

                         of my mind


Amyls and nitrous fill me with

                  a sense

            of detachment

it all seems rather useless

as my attempts to go beyond

             begin to go beyond

         my original goals


I guess the limits remain—

                          stop signs

         posted along the road

  designed to signify limitations


but I go forward anyway

I am married to a journey

             that can not be stopped

now I must continue the trek

                       in spite of

                    the piling debris


View georgeschaefer's Full Portfolio
allets's picture

Danger Will Robinson!

Debris ahead! This poem feels like my future - post COVID of course. Beer! :D



georgeschaefer's picture

I prefer to reuse if I can't

I prefer to reuse if I can't recycle or maybe the other way around