Writing Drunk

Steve Pearson Poetry

It’s not the spelling really,
Nor imagery affectation
It’s keeping it whole ideally
Despite mental aberration.
The whiskey words are flowing
But hiccups spoil my stream
The inspiration is surely going
What will this story mean?
Well, I haven’t resorted to cussing
Though, fuck knows, the time is right
I’ll probably end up saying nothing
Well, hic, no shit, goodnight.

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