I’ll take it…

maybe I’m going crazy, that’s all right
but these poems keep rising to the top of my
head with more and more
force.     now
after the oceans of booze that I have
it would only seem that attrition would
be my rightful reward as I continue to
consume… while
the madhouses, skidrows and graveyards are
filled with the likes of
yet each night as I sit down to this machine
with my bottle
the poems flare and jump out, on and
on… roaring in the glee of
easy power:   65 years
dancing… my mouth curling into a
tiny grin
as these keys keep meting out a
substantial energy of cock-
eyed miracle.

the gods have been kind to me through this
life-style that would have killed
an ox of a man
and I’m no ox of a

I sensed from the beginning, of
course, that there was a strange gnawing
inside of em

but I never dreamed this
this absolute shot of

my death will at most seem