BOOZE and rusty nails,
a brutal wind, carrying
your manic smile, traffic
lights, with matching luggage,
a clumsy thought, puts you
back in your wornout strait
jacket.
DONT botch it up,
dont botch it up,
says the queen,
for tonight, even the prodigal
son gets saved.
There's an image 'painted' I'd have to investigate with all its possibilities. alcohol and loneliness will sometimes find us with 'tolerated' company! At least until the end..or the sobering. Whichever we are 'relieved' to discover. LSP Nice work.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi David, very different again and unique. I like how you describe botching it up. You have a fun way of expressing yourself sometimes. Take care David, Excellent poem.