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August 23, 2012
12:21 am

Points: 12028
Thanked 228 times

This one's short, but I used to read it at slams from time to time...


I am poetry slammed—

drunken with thought wine.

I swoop up life

with a ladle, pour it

into a crystal cup, and

sometimes I drink

straight from the jug.

People are poetry, those

I connect with, those

I evolve with, and those

I observe, all poets.

Peers and generations gone,

my ancestors of inspiration.

Words of present and past lives

leak in and spill over.

Purified, filtered through,

trickle over hair and skin,

drain out laboriously down

limbs and into pen,

stain the paper until

the scroll is full and I can

no longer be nourished

by this inebriated existence.

I rest my soul in a quiet café

and with death-like sobriety

order my last cup—

coffee, black.

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 24, 2012
12:10 am
Points: 2538
Thanked 36 times

As I read this I just kept smiling.  I'm still smiling.

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