Beaver for the Weekend

It's only been a weekend and
and my liver's river-washed,
I'm a beaver in a broken dam,
cozy in the marsh,
now it seems the rumors creep,
they bubble up and pop,
like an oil leak of hammered dreams
that's gnawing to a stop.
As the tires autograph the road,
I'm drinking at the stoplight,
blinking red, yellow and green
mind's fading at the stoplight.
Little beaver on the crosswalk,
take a gander at the skyline,
with a bed in the horizon,
don't drink away the stoplight.
Build a dam from sticks and dreams,
command it like a king,
If anyone would ever ask,
I'm entirely too busy being me.

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