Ramblings of a Deranged Poet

I gather words, sling them
on cotton white, rearrange them
then mix them into vodka
and drink my death of them
I regurgitate whole verses
but what for? — my ramblings
lay buried on a dusty floor
You haven’t trespassed here
in decades — I’m all white-washed
drunken and deranged
a poet, no more, no less insane

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2 thoughts on “Ramblings of a Deranged Poet

  1. johncoyote says:

    You wrote a poem for me. I understand this poetry. Most writers and Poets are a little mad. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.

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