To the Brim Again

–

Drink.

Drink to fast-forgotten memories, to well-constructed reverie.

Drink to the sheltered treasure of private melancholy.

And to the brim again.

Drink to levitate life, to caricature death,

in remembrance of easy embrace, to that touch as perfect as cat curling leg.

Drink to 5-year plans, to 10-year plans, to no plans at all.

Drink to the stringing together of lost pearls in early dawn, can’t quite sleep,

to deep-night defocused gaze into flame, as far away from here as can be.

And to the brim again.

Drink to the happy drunks, to the generous and the grandiose,

Drink to the dashed romance of dashing hard-drinkers,

But to the fight-filled drunks, drink not.

Drink to the expansive, to the eclectic, to the strangers that came so easily.

Drink to the lusty thrills of imagined possibility that still serve to satisfy so nicely.

Drink to the before times,

Drink to the end times,

But to the now times, drink not.

Still, we will flower. Drink to doing it again someday, together, with wild abandon.

Drink in dubious accordance with destiny, then drink in the face of and in sublime submission to the three mysteries.

Of nothing. Something.

Drink.

Of no life, life.

Drink.

Of no thought. Thought.

Drink.

Yes, let’s drink until all is drank and drunken, my friends of forever,

And to the brim again.

To the brim.

–

–