Dead Drunk
He consumes in entirety
That which entirely consumes him
And the spirit of whose neck he has
In his hand in turn possesses him.
When the hour’s hand points
A certain direction then home beckons
Hence it seems not lost
The sense of place and time
Yet when he opens his eyes
Comes the age-old question:
“Where am I? ”
Copyright © Robert Uy | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment