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So I’m going through my poems trying to pick out the best, and the deeper I get into the “archives”, the more I find myself shaking my head sadly. And swearing a lot. I’ve written an awful lot of awful.

There are a few gems, a few redeeming shiny bits, but if I’m going to pull together a book it looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.

It probably doesn’t help matters that I’m dealing with a hell of a hangover. And not just your average hangover. I got desperate last night — no booze in the house, no money in my pocket, and my better half refused to share her stash of beer with me — and desperation (especially alcoholic desperation) leads to dangerous things. I found a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Well, half a bottle of it. Which I then proceeded to mix up with some instant iced tea. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and downed it. It didn’t kill me or blind me, but it tasted like hairspray mixed with cat piss. More importantly, though, it did the job and I got a hell of a nice buzz out of it.

What I wasn’t counting on was the hellacious hangover I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with all day today. Which, needless to say, has made going through my poems (which are almost always about booze) just a fucking joy.

In any case, a little progress was made. I picked one that I wrote in June to post here today. It’s a little more wordy than my usual style — and I may edit it down — but it’s got the voice I like to project and I’m thinking it’s a keeper. Or at least a fixer-upper. Feedback is welcome.

Now I’m off to the medicine cabinet. I found a bottle of mouthwash with alcohol. I’ll not only have a buzz, but minty fresh breath, too.

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