Slurring half coherent sentences
as my poetry crawls away in shame.
I cannot talk in a straight line.
I cannot walk in a straight line.
I cannot piss in a straight line.
I cannot think in a straight line.
All I need is a fucking line.
A line of something white and powdery.
Something to thin out the fog.
Something to raise up the chin.
Something to let at least a little bit
of intelligence back in.
Is this the hour of my glory?
Am I now drunker than the rest?
Have I out done my father?
Is my bed empty and waiting?
And is my family far, far away?
I need another drink, right now!
I’ve just lost the last one
and the three before, oh no!
Let me alone awhile to daydream.
Let me alone awhile to drunkenly fidget.
Let me alone awhile to cry pathetically.
Just please, please don’t let me sober up.
Written by Paul Tristram
Available to buy via Lulu