The Forgotten TrystA Poem by J.Sin2017.11.12 @ 21:38When she walked into my room I was partially sedated by A half bottle of Glenfiddich Three shots of Absinthe And Shostakovich’s 7th. She was angry, I daresay, F*****g
mad. My astute rationalization was to Feign inspiration, Allege that
my muse had… Raped me? Even I determined that to be dubious at best, And it showed. As she stormed from the room I begged my muse My spark, My genius, My
sensibility, For the lexicon, The prose, The poetry, To make everything Copacetic. As she approached the threshold she turned round, Looked deep into my vernacular As I opened my mouth, And eloquently, Poured myself, One, More, Drink. © 2017 J.Sin |
StatsAuthorJ.SinBanská Bystrica, SlovakiaAboutCanadian living and working in Slovakia. World traveller, musician, writer, and teacher. Former music/film reviewer for "Cassette Culture" online magazine. 5 self-published poetry/short story books in.. more..Writing
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