WHEN I DRINK

When I drink

the $300 scotch

with Roshi

it quenches every thirst

A song comes to my lips

a woman lies down with me

and every desire

invites me to curl up naked

in its dripping jaws

 

No more, I cry, no more

but Roshi fills my glass again

and new passions consume me

new appetites

For instance

I fall into a tulip

(and never hit the bottom)

or I hurtle through the night

in sweaty sexual union

with someone about twice the size

of the Big Dipper

 

When I eat meat with Roshi

the four-legged animals

don't cry any more

and the two-legged animals

don't try to fly away

and the exhausted salmon

come home to my hand

and Roshi's wolf

biting at its broken chain

creates a sensation

in the cabin

by making friends with everyone

When I chow down with Roshi

and the Ballantine flows

the pine trees inch into my bosom

the great boring grey boulders

of Mt. Baldy

creep into my heart

and they all get fed

with the delicious fat

and the white cheese popcorn

or whatever it is

they've wanted all these years