Drunk slumped and fevered.
Drunk the floor accelerating toward your nose at an unsafe rate of speed.
Drunk running shirtless down New York December midnight streets.
Drunk jousting with unnamed 2×4 wielding assailants.
Drunk crunch two solo motor vehicles.
Drunk the weeds towering above you as the sun creases vacant lot darkness.
Drunk on dangerous stranger sidewalk door stoops to stay awake just a few
more hours and finish the gallon Carlo chablis jug.
Drunk fuck tomorrow its high promise spent, its running stockings bunched
about gouty bloat ankles.
Drunk he was drunk and that is where their unhappiness seed sprouted forth
and gave rise to unhappiness generation II.
Drunk sitting at keyboards banging out penance tries, tired old blame songs
and new recipes for paste flavored melancholy.
Can you see my need to write?
Camouflage ruse netting for diseased alcohol need, how original.
THE MIND ATTIC 