Bad-Time Booze

My tongue grows heavy with foul fizzy brews,
brain half-poisoned with bitter resignation,
cold cups of coffee and bottled desperation,
a hot shot of envy in a glass of bad news.
Pour me some more of that bad-time booze—
heartbreak hops and fever fermentation,
traces of flavor disappeared in translation
in the broke-down city of the red-black bruise.

Just when we thought we had nothing left to lose
troubles that bubble like over-carbonation,
long-gone problems come back out of solution.
Bent by sewer gas, choked with crepitation
bloodstream boulevards run with retribution
in the broke-down city of the red-black bruise.

--inspired by Poefusion's title, "Your Tongue Grows Heavy From Foul and Fizzy Brews".

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