Bottle down liquor drank
Can't think of a better excuse
To drink on a Wednesday
At seven in the afternoon
Next to a dirty creek with leeches and bugs
Beside a pontiac torrent that has scraped every side of its face
On every single ditch on this countryside
At one point or another
All thanks to endless bottles
Of fireball
Rye
And any liquor that burns on the way down
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 4
Poetryhello again! another poetry book - number four, to be exact. if you've been here a while, you know the drill: there's no order to this thing, and after 100 poems or writing pieces, there's gonna be a new book. about the cover: it was a Thursday at S...
