poets die

at last, he was not sure
if he had consumed the drinks,
or if the drinks had consumed him,
but either way,
the work got better
and better,
the wetter he got,
sinuses filled with snot;
and yet he soldiered on,
until most of him
was gone:
one more to be admired
long after he was gone:
a bunch of silly lines,
left to linger on.

November 7, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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