Dipsomaniacs - Poem by James McLain
Dipsomaniacs and bipolar the luxuriant every
mixture of manic between county lines driven deep
within the everglades.
Most going only as far north,
as the top of each pine to retrieve a feather or two.
Left behind by the last lover that flew the nest.
Maybe back then it was cute ridding on the back
of some comprehensible, prehistoric upscale alligator.
Though with one arm thrown back that martini was
never spilled and sipping it from some green reed.
Being eccentric has it's draw backs.
Isn't it odd how egocentric and quite once the alligator
was once made out to be.
Comments about Dipsomaniacs by James McLain
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye