Poetry: Selections From George Gad Economou
the nights sire new dreams
the nights sire new
dreams
doomed to die the
moment the sun comes up
vodka in the coffee to
kill the lingering scent of the stillborn dreams
gin and tonics in the
early afternoon to destroy whatever’s
left of hope
and bourbon all evening
and night long
embarking on another
journey to blackout island
where no new dreams or
memories can survive
fighting the urge to
chase something new that already smells old
past mistakes committed
again in the endless
search for something
that doesn’t exist
the nights sire new
dreams unless bourbon
inundates the brain and
numbs the heart
Dead Memories
dead memories resurface
during drunk nights
women I’ve wronged
return to the forefront of the mind
effulgent moments play
out on the yellow from the nicotine wall
the hurting returns too
as does the desire to
contact some of them
sending messages into
the void hoping for them to reach Emily
avoiding social media
after the sixth drink so as to not message those still living
the dead memories
become brighter and more alive as more booze’s consumed
distorting the past
with rose-colored filters that darken the present even more
Drowning Memories
a book falls from the
bookcase in the
middle of the night;
it’s my copy of
The Flowers of Evil, one of Emily’s favorite books.
I pick it up and chase
each
exquisite poem with
long pulls of rancid red wine.
the lights flicker, the
plumes of blue smoke coming out of
my mouth are dispersed
by a breeze that comes from within the apartment.
empty wine bottles fly
off the table and land on
the wall, reminding me
of lazy Wednesday evenings of nothing to do.
the collection of Poe’s
works on the coffee table
opens; nevermore.
of course it’d open on The Raven, the poem
I’d read her dozens of
times during drunk mornings.
perhaps, it’s all
because of the bad meth I smoked earlier.
I crack a bottle of Jim
Beam, have a hefty swallow. outside of my
closed window the
weather’s fine, nothing but the chill of
an autumn afternoon.
inside the apartment a storm’s raging
and I’m caught in the
middle of a tornado pulling
books out of their
shelves and opens drawers to reveal
hidden 8balls of junk,
rock, and pot.
“stop,” I scream. the
storm dies down. “I’m ready.”
I grab the needle and
the spoon, burn almost an entire
8ball. it’s gonna
disagree with the meth, a war’s gonna
start in my blood and
brain. it’s better than the
insanity of dealing
with ghostly visits from the one
I can’t hold in my arms
anymore.
Missing
missing the cold
embraces
of yesteryear, the vain
attempts of replacing
Emily.
missing Christine’s
kisses despite
resenting her for
saving my life
when she found me with
the spike in the arm.
missing the nights
Bircan spent in my
apartment, proclaiming
her love for
me in a barrage of
empty promises.
missing the dozens of
women I met in bars
and nightclubs, whose
kisses never left an impact
on my doped-up mind.
algid nights of
nothingness, of fucking and kissing that
meant absolutely
nothing and it
used to be alright.
in drunkenness I found
a better
companion and as I dip
my
cigarette in a vial of
PCP I
embrace the magnificent
insanity of
escaping humanity.
Untitled
drunk ghosts consumed
all our kisses
during tumultuous times
we both sought a safe haven of tranquility.
lost kisses and broken
promises that turned to ashes
like the postcard she
sent me with the Kafka quote
and a promise to “keep
all her promises”
that was one day burned
in my sink and I used the flame
to light a joint so I
could forget her.
no drug powerful enough
to take her out of my heart.
jealous ghosts stole
our nights
the days turned longer
without her.
even the wine tasted
different as I drunkenly
begged the ghosts to
return what they’d stolen.
George Gad Economou has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science, currently works as a freelance writer, and has published three novels and three poetry collections. His latest book is Smoking Rot Gut Drinking Junk (Anxiety Press). His work has appeared in various publications, including 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.