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I’ve been writing since about 4:00am today and it seemed to be going well. I was alliteratin’, assonancin’, alludin’, symbolizin’ and all kinds of poetical device shit. But then my inner editor and critic got loose in the midst of the writing process and completely fucked everything up.

This is why I normally don’t write unless I’m halfway to piss drunk. When I’m in that state, the editor is gagged, blindfolded and tied up in the darkest corner of my brain.

Since there’s no booze in the house — and if there were, I’m not supposed to touch it or I just may shit what’s left of my liver — I decided to do the next best thing: take a break and bitch about it. And maybe throw a snippet of what I’m working on out here to blogland to see what you, the reader, thinks.

the old bum staggers
his way to the pisser
past the fighters
and philosophers,
the honeys and whores,
to stare at a wall
scarred with promises
of blowjobs and more
when all he really wants
is a kindly face,
an ear eager
for his stories
of twenty-cent gas
and the mills,
always
the mills…

What’s your impression? Good? Bad? Any constructive criticism is welcome.

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