05/03/2009

DRINK by Lloyd Fletcher

Of course I want
to sit at home
quaffing poetry
by the tome, ignoring
the phone and the hopeless
chill of my unpaid
electric bill. I'm finite,
frail and full of holes.
I leak. So I'd rather not
waste my numbered days
in drought: the more
I drink,
the more I think,
the longer it takes
to drain me empty.

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