Buzz, Buzz, Buzzed

complete drunken garbage for you to lick up:

It's not that I enjoy being the one writing at a bar
but I've just had a discussion about what it means to be Amer-I-Can
and apparently it means you can do whatever the fuck you want---
questions asked, but no answers given.
My questions right now are silly but pressing:
I'm wondering about the guy drinking only Chardonnay
and why it took three drinks to even out the ratio of filler to alcohol
and what gave her a bad night anyway?
Bad nights seems to be administered just like antidotes--
almost like you need 'em to remind you what the opposite is like.
It's all about Perspective,
and mine's coming 80-proof through a too-thin straw
I usually use to stir my anti-hangover caffeine dream
come morning after dreaming.
Last night I dreamt that I've been dreaming
about bars where phones ring and registers sing
and my words sting but in a way that makes sense
like a bee's final act of defiance before dying
(and it isn't all in vain, because really, those flowers weren't going to pollinate themselves)
So here I go, buzz, buzz, buzzed.