------Keats

        Asthmatic the beggar, clown
        Waking frowns drunk as dawn's not,
        Tongue caked with dirt.
        Uncanny, he yawns,
        Such a bender, carbonated
        Veins, spins, your throat an abyss-

        Expect little: just to dissatisfy
        Nausea you'll have to see
        Little but close
        Your eyes to what's fixable while spinning
        You drift amidst them,
        Exhumed, with a dirty mouth.

Copyright © Mac Oliver, 2001.  All Rights Reserved.