Finally, there’s nothing By George Gad Economou

I’ve been drunk in many bars,

gotten high in many dark alleys.

full with hope and dreams when I

drank everyone under the table or when I

went sleepless for a week during wild benders.

now, I’m

dreamless,

empty,

dead within.

penniless, like always,

surrounded by books and empty bourbon bottles.

the soundtrack remains the same, the guffaws of

children from the kindergarten across the street. 

sex sounds from the apartment above,

someone’s hitting his wife one block down.

in some alley, someone shoots up junk

and evaporates as if he never existed.

blue smoke rises in front of me, 

vanishes, rises again.

the moon is gone, 

eaten by the giants.

a god is barbequing in the sun.

I’m sitting here

with my worn-out keyboard

making music for the deaf,

poems for the blind, 

philosophy for the dead.

Currently residing in Greece, George Gad Economou has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science and is the author of Bourbon Bottles and Broken Beds (Adelaide Books), Of the Riverside (Anxiety Press) and Reeling Off the Barstool (Dumpster Fire Press). His words have also appeared, amongst other places, in Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Cajun Mutt Press, Fixator Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Outcast Press, The Piker Press, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.