I am Shamed. I am Drunk.
Like a shadow birthed
From dawn-light's approach.
I hide between the pink and red
Of pollution's grandeur.
And listen to the morning birds sing.
Ambiance to my lips stretching
Grand as Dali's face.
What is a muse?
When she hides sunlight
In blonde temptation.
To a pucker
Along the river
But what value does a miracle have
That happens ever year?
I still stutter language
Like a drunk's footsteps.
"What is sobriety? "
Such a gift to make a poet dumbfounded.
I had to be in-intoxicated
To put this sensation into verse.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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