Clifford Banick

The Tea Totaler

Through a blood shot eye I view the sky.
They tell me it is blue.
Through the other eye I see a bottle of rye.
It is pretty to.
I can't touch the sky so I grasp the rye and have a drink or two.
My speech is slured my vision blured. I can't see my shoe.
Am I upright or to Damn tight to write this poem for you.

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