Saturday, December 6, 2014

Drunken Poetry

Prolly don't make no sense. My subconscious. Full of cliches. YOLF

La Cerveza Mas Fina

The shelf life of malt liquor
1 hour
1 quart

To write in this state
1 broken mind
no imagination
too much time

the room floats
the consumer is stable
sturdy as a rock
all is able to happen here

there are no fears
no inhibitions
to call someone would be a mistake

there's solace here
in this place
in this glass bottle
on this drunken tongue lingers
a malted heir
twisted words
and honesty

although it's not to be comprehended

words of courage are born here
bad habits don't form
no habits are bad
these are the actions that warm
no need for discipline
heed the warning

in this bottle
there is knowledge
truth and solace
nothing is wrong here


But what about sobriety

You fool

You think this is good for you


A dunce cap for you

sit there and entertain

let the people enjoy at your expense

entertain them Charlie

they will love you

Drink and be merry

they will love you

I promise

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