One by Sprig Botnick

Love’s Hangover 

Let flow once more the beery froth

Of warbled words from hands of sloth

(You know, that sloth with hands, that sings

And soils the bar with hop-some rings);

Now shall these lines be scanned by that ‘un

Who tramped my heart like Gen’ral Patton,

And broached my walls, and staunched the flood

Of my heart’s river’s pulchritude,

To whom I give a withered heart —

Surrendered, silenced, parched, apart —

A heart that vomits in the sink,

Whose only hope’s that morning drink.




Sprig Botnick

Published in: on December 4, 2011 at 11:30 pm  Leave a Comment  

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