I slouch across the barstool 

evicted of deplorable hope 

the dog-ends of humanity.

Sipping lite beer for the chance of 

rejuvenation and vitalization and conviviality 

raining down upon me until 

my soul becomes the sloshing of mud.

In between inebriation and 

coughed clouds of water vapor 

I remember the sweat on my skin as a boy, 

hearing the names of giants like warriors of the ancient days and how I might 

be one of them; boy turned warrior, 

squire turned knight.

But the slumping weight of gravity 

hauls itself downward upon me 

and the miasma of incredulity 

heats from my liquor mouth as 

those giants dance on the television screen 

and the boy burrowed deep 

in the heart of my hearts 

drops his hope like a stone in the river 

of draught, a kerplunk 

for the behemoth.

Aiming for the moon and falling in the blackness beyond.