By Linda Crate
the golden age of apollo has ended,
the pomegranate age of dionysus has
begun, people are drinking grapes
straight off the vine; a poor man’s
wine, everyone wants a reason to
raise a glass or two as they get drunk
on everything from champagne to
appletinis to vodka and rum; sober
thoughts are hard to come by
depending on who you speak to,
the ale getting in the way of
things that truly matter, but the
drunkard will not save himself he
raises the glass to his lips and kills
his vital organs down one by one.
Linda Crate is a twenty five year old Pennsylvanian native with a degree in English-Literature. Her poetry has been published in various magazines the latest of which include: Dead Snakes, The Camel Saloon, and Carnage Conservatory.
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you include links in your comment the whole comment will likely be deleted as spam. You have been warned! Otherwise, dialoguing with these poems is encouraged.