“While Drunk”

Poet

 

 

 

 

 

Rage is seething within me,
But I cannot run amuck
For the edges of my consciousness
Are dull.
My eye balls are swimming behind
My brain.
However, no matter how sketchy
Reality have become,
I can still put one word
After another,
One verse after another,
Which proves the thesis that
Drunk poets can still think
Along straight lines,
Until the third bottle.
As the physical world tipped over
And the boundary between dreams
And oblivion evaporated,
I tightened my grip on the
Freezing glass,
Let out a haunted breath,
And allowed my mind to drift
With the rising tide.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s