You are the alcohol in Charles Bukowskis hand.A Poem by addisoneAnd so my subject has been decided, the object of my infectious thoughts spreading like ink through layers of paper. You are the alcohol in Charles Bukowski's hand. You are the fruit fragments at the bottom of my wine glass. You are the unknown name of The Archpoet. You are the goliard in me. You are the discarded drafts of poems I didn't like. And the ones I loved that kept me up all night. You are the last drag of my cigarette. And the first taste of my drink. You are all the thoughts I hate to think. But love to write when it suites me. And I am all the things left behind of what you hated about yourself. I am the spinning vinyl of Charles Bukowski reading his own work. I am a full glass of Shiraz. I am The Archpoets descendant. I am a goliard forever.
© 2016 addisoneFeatured Review
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Added on August 23, 2016Last Updated on August 23, 2016 Author
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