oh what height have we reached
three fingers now
no ice
the steady burn of cheap whiskey
I used to drink from a fine glass
two bottles ago
it lost it’s fight
crippled and jagged in the corner
oh what depths we retreat
three stools now
no more
the steady glow of neon light
I used to drink from a group of 4
two bottles ago
he lost his fight
crippled and jagged in the corner
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What pleasant verses! ! I like them! Height and depth with a botlle and a glass acting as judges. Thank you Michael McCall, for your talent and the original way you write such poems. I give a 9+...as a starting point. You have great prospects in Poetry, if only focussed on fresh ideas, that are parts of our life.