“While Drunk”







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.

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