wb :

as we walked through the jardins des tulleries
spying on lovers kissing, trying to imagine
streetlights and moon as fountains and sun
and children sailing paper boats -


i did not think of the oily fool
twisting things like spaghetti round his fork
and spoon. i did not think of the many-hued
statues filling up the museum behind us


stuck in eternal bliss, or famous paintings
i completely missed; only amazed at the
dinner of internal organs playing their
strange symphony to accompany beliefs


i'd never allowed myself to believe in, fitting
perfectly into the hollows
of the gardens, the morose shapes of trees, the
flowers we can't see because it's the wrong season.

To Alcohol!- the cause of, and solution
To all my tears and laughter on this night,
To all life's problems, and their resolutions!

You ask, my friend, what caused my grim submission
To whims of fate?- Why only my delight
Is Alcohol? Well. The cause of, and solution

To young boys' woes is purposeful distraction,
And that was she! Oh, such a pretty sight
To end life's problems! So my resolutions

Were broken, and I drank intoxication,
I gasped her scent, I called her name at night
O'er alcohol, the cause of, and solution-

Aflame, it came, enraged- our dissolution,
And where she stood, just wind, and winter night,
And one life's problems, and no resolutions.

So drink with me! O, drink to this rambunction!
No better time to glory in our plight!-
To Alcohol! that cause, that fierce solution
To all life's problems, and their resolutions!