~ Pen on Fire ~

“Your poetry’s quite good; I’m surprised minor publishers can afford you.

What’s the catch?”

I drink.

“How does that affect your words?”

It seals the breeches in this wall

Where wanton lies constantly crawl

It fills my pen with more than me

With words that come from history;

And hones me with

From length to breadth

Deep strokes of ink some liken to

Browning and Keats ~ Tennyson too;

It girds me with

Aye, braces stiff

Emboldened words that bold display

Frost and Kipling ~ Plath for a day...

When I’m drunk...

Only when I’m drunk.

 

--Misery