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, 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 God knows whom; I'll keep shunning good nutrition and be grateful to my muse 'til they lay me cold and lifeless in my tomb!