Last Call For Alcohol
by Scott Wozniak
Blowing my soul out
in faded smoke rings
that trace
bar room brawls,
as I warm my bones
beside neon lights,
drinking
tall glasses
of regret
soaked
in cheap bourbon
poured from
rock bottom bottles
who’s magic
has vanished,
forever lost
in the echoes
of pool ball cracks,
bathroom stall snorts,
and last call
whore’s moans.
I’ve become stuck,
submerged in disaster,
taking deep drags
of sinking self-
realization,
seeing no exit sign
illuminating
the way out
of this emergency
that my foolish
complacency
doomed me
to inhabit,
day after
dreadful
day.
—–
Scott Wozniak is a 38 year old poet from So. Oregon who is rapidly gaining momentum in the underground lit scene. You can find his works scattered like e-bombs around the internet. To find out more about him go to, about.me/swozniak.
