whiskey sonnet #728 the closest, the furthest

i've really known it all along
you'd needed more of someone
when you came knocking on my heart
asking, "is this thing on?"
bring me whiskey and a glass
and the bourbon in my flask
i've got some irish in a sack
scotch warmed in my grasp
it's hard when you ask
"why all i see is you back?"

all you see is words
all i see is words

baby you should be gone
out there loving someone
but really, move on
the fuck from my face
while i'm writing your song
i know my temper is haste
and i can speak out of place
the whiskey knows without you
the whiskey knows alone

all you see is words
all i see is words

you're my fine wine forty-five

you are my violence
you are my poison idea
you are my greg
be my four o'clock alarm bells
be me whistling dixie
be my louis
be my bail rat
trouble at the violence
trouble when violin comes in
trouble you're not rocking your head
beat the truth
beat the truth out of bass and tom
beat the fucking song
you are my medication
you are my needle jump
you are my change of station
you are my 4:14 amplitude modulation
whiskey at my lips
whiskey fisted parliament
whiskey it is arming me
whiskey it arms the song
the plane remains the same
even as the record plays
the plane remains the same
even as the record plays
the plane remains the same

it's very difficult to write as of late.
surgery will be soon i hope.
the medication takes everything from me.
and while i welcome the relief in some ways, i anguish over nothing.
i miss to speak
scared of surgery, scared of recovery, scared of not recovering
frightened this is the precipice.
C5-C6 spinal compression and calcification.
not terrible.
just want the feeling back.