Lines with Wine

The beauty of writing like this, out into the evening to you my strangers

Is that I can write the most reckless, drunken lines without a care for their truth

Knowing that I’ll wake tomorrow to the horror of them

Lines that have no foundation, no authority, a hair’s breadth from insanity

Saying things like “I don’t give a damn about your life, how or when it ends

Only that before you die you live a moment of it as if owning it all

Knowing that every voice, every beauty, every poem be yours.”

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