Breakfast Of Champions
Domestic beer and cheap cigars
inflame my lyric flare,
spark my anxious urge
to create something readable,
splurge into visions of sugarplums,
flights of pure fancy, till I have a
poem distilled in my brain.
The struggle to articulate
is pure and simple pleasure,
making mountains out of molehills
and silk purses from sows' ears,
perched at my computer
with my dreams and foolish wishes.
So I'll smoke another stogie,
free a beer from the refrigerator,
write another silly verse to share
with who knows whom;
I'll keep shunning good nutrition
and be grateful to my muse
'til they lay me cold and lifeless in my tomb!