I sat at a table, a book aboard and pen in hand, a drink not far away. I proceeded to write a little, and read thereafter. Though little has been 'published' online, truly, much has been done, as I've concentrated efforts on the completion of my novel as well as the passing of time through the immediate immersion of complicit drunkenness, recklessness and good, albeit bad, company. Here's a little off the 'top of my head'.
O!
How I'd love to be
a pugilist,
were I not
always
reeling drunk
and writing poetry.
*
Me?
I guess
I'm a gross mess;
all smoke,
sweat, spit, blood, shit,
cum and stale piss.
Hardly walking,
rather balling;
a junky in need of a fix:
anything, just another
something
to add to my list.
Could you,
Would you ever believe
that I yearned for
more than this?
Consumption's a sweet,
sour, sugary, bitter
sort of bliss.
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