of course i'll drink again

last time we went out
you broke my foot
and took
all my money from me
after I had become
un-gloriously drunk.

maybe next time
you'll shank me in the
liver or
slit my throat.

I think it's
time to
finally part ways.  

what you give
is only a claim,
a promise you never keep:
my nights with you
always end
with me stumbling
or crawling my way alone.

you're more false than
the other bodies and
voices
that
aren't there,
you're

the dress that never comes off
the smile that stinks of shit
the help that never shows up.

I grant you that
i will miss
the illusion my mind still plays
when i think of you,

i will miss
the sound
the smell
of  promises i know
will never bear fruit.

it's decided,
let my
solitude be
unadulterated
uncut
pure.

It's time
to finally part ways.

make the same promises
to others that
will come along,
keep your
short
summer dresses for them,
you don't
have to
smile my way anymore.

next time
you might
crack my head
with a rock
while you whistle a love song.

i can stumble well enough of my own accord.

let my
solitude be
unadulterated
uncut
pure.

it's time to
finally part ways.    

so long.

a very negative poem 

i don't wanna talk about
homes in the area
or
certificates of variance,

let alone
the market or
when is
the right time to invest.

i don't give a fuck,
i couldn't care less.

i don't wanna talk about
home improvements
or
maintenance,

let alone
teachable business models
and
exceeding minimum sales.

i don't give a fuck
and i couldn't care less

i don't
want to meet your family
and i don't
want to meet your friends,

go to barbecues on weekends
or maybe the movies
with
you or
anyone or them.

i don't want to
hear them talk
when get they get philosophical
and

i don't want to hear them
when they
yap about politics
the marvel universe
or
Game of Thrones.

i don't want to go with you
to sport bars
and
watch you giggle
after 3 sips
of water spiked with  
fruit juice and a little booze.  

i don't want your alcohol confessions,
i don't want you to
let me  
fuck you because you're drunk:

anyway,
i'm an awful lover,
you're not missing much.  

I don't give a fuck about your cross-fit
or
Netflix binge, your
yoga or
problems with  
ex or
kids.    

i don't want
to meet your family
and i don't
want to meet your friends.

i don't want their
alcohol confessions,
i don't
want to drink with them:
i don't want to sit with you
in backyard gatherings of voices
and gestures and bullshit moves:

let mosquitoes reign whips of discomfort
instead
let there
rain rocks
the size of dead dogs.  

i can't talk about
available homes in the area
or certificates of variance,
let alone
babysitters and
going to the art show.

i don't give a fuck,
i couldn't care less.

forget about
parent-teacher meetings
or dinner with the neighbors,

and never mind
me
getting ahead at work:  

in fact, i may quit my job.

i'm not your ideal lover
or even man,
save yourself
for someone else,
don't
make plans for my future:
instead

let me just
sit and breathe by myself,
the fuck alone,
maybe with luck
i'll disappear
or

fate willing, i'll become a rock.

J.C. Mari resides in Florida. He's been published here and there and ekes out his living in philistine occupations unrelated to poesy or the arts