Organic Barfly

Everyday is an excuse.
So excuse me Mr. Man, 
but its this girl's turn to smoke out this tale from end to end
to shuffle yet another one of your bad lines beneath my heels 
which seems to ramble on and on in all of its collections...

But I can untempt these tantrums
As if to say that it is a new day
And on this dog day I am entitled to a fall

A fall of the sweet ale which should deservingly trickle down from my breasts
that is
For being the Desiree that I am
For I am a woman with no requests and no tips 
for a dying man behind the bar
just trying to keep up with the pace of my throat 
working its way from the palms of my hands...
which indeed catches that fallen ale
and a little bad wind from the one next to me....

But how can I resist these temptations
which all serve me an excuse today
for my drunken soul
and wandering smile.

Judi Buckley's Questions:

As cynical and racy as this piece may appear, there is an underlying tone of "grasping-the-situation-of-this-life-in-all-of-its-foul- candor-and-grace" which is, I suppose, what I'm really trying to get through. An excuse for loving every aspect of my gorgeous and seedy existance.

Does this notion remain lost in vain linguistics, the offensive and defensive views which are just really cynical wit to add style?