A Drunkards Sonnet Poem by Charles Bernabi

In my head I saw nothing but despair,
There was only a fantasy of love.
I think I'm dead, or I'm in a nightmare,
Where affords an intensity above.
So I went down, I went down to the bar,
And hit the whisky hard in my stupor.
The strangest night I had quite drunk by far,
With festering breath smelling of liquor.
And there was a tale in the morn paper;
Everyone read about the drunken mug.
It was for creed such an awkward caper,
Wherefore I ne'er understood its lug.
No trouble I sought there in my wobble,
I just wanted love and no gall squabble.