last quarter over the bay street bridge

the tide is going out, people.
that tide is finally
going out.

i wrote a sestina last night
and when i finished i was like,
this puppy has a long way to go.
but now, now
it all makes sense.
i know where the poem is going.
out.

(i'm drunk on about twelve margaritas
and i'm going to have the worst headache tomorrow
and e
i don't even care becausi'm going to nurse it
with double americano
and clare
and alias grace
and it will be
AWESOME.)