Saturday, June 20, 2009
liquor lubricated lucidation
And far too little providence
Of the thing I seem to seek,
While merely alleged opportunity
Fails to manifest plausibility
Anywhere remotely within reach.
Naught a placebo of sufficient caliber
To quiet the internal agitator
Can be torn from these woefully meager fields.
Famine strikes its lingering blow
Not to the belly, but to the heart, the soul
Of the longing and lonely
Coldly consoled only
By being far far too much in the know.