Drunk on the desire to get drunk
I window shop the bars scanning the
coloured posters for the cheapest deal.
Daring not to meet the eyes of another,
for one should not escape before the
sun has come. I refuse to position myself
into the future and see myself shaking
hands with myself.
We the educated drifters are unlike them
we are waiting in the harbour for enlightenment
for the perfect word to transform us into
someone.
Smoking requires class, so not to look
the prisoner of ones own weakness.
Blow the smoke as if the smoke wants
to be blowed, place a thought within
its cloud and watch it drift over each
mans failure.
For each gulp you take, write a poem
for each pint you sink save a nation
Fight a war from pages six to nine,
And when night time calls for an end
to all of this, and you leave walking
and talking like those you mock
at least in the morning you shall have
a story to lure back your absent mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem