Give me cigarettes and booze
And a poor diet’s hues
And a room with a lock on the door,
And I’ll write you a book
With a sound and a look
Unlike anything knocked up before.
Full of words and their ways
And negotiable space
For their content to gently consume,
And before the last vowel
You’ll be keen to allow them
Inside you to mentally bloom.
Where they’ll mess with your mind
And your mouth when you find
You’re surrounded by those you adore,
Who will be so impressed
By the way you address
The opinions they chose to ignore.
And convinced of your wit
And the wisdom of it
They will ask where you sought inspiration,
And you’ll mention my name
And the letters I’ve framed
And at last I’ll have wrought my salvation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Give me cigarettes and booze And a poor diet’s hues And a room with a lock on the door, And I’ll write you a book......................loved the opening of this poem but have always wondered why all these 'bad for you things' seem to make some folks lives worth living? Me, I can't drink or smoke or eat fattening foods. Why? 1 doc's orders.2 I don't like them.3 I like to get into nice clothes. I'm such a bore. Ruthy; -)))))