the ancient zen wino poet
the ancient zen wino poet
lifts the 5 liter box
of franzia cabernet
measuring the distance
to the next box
smoking an invisible cigarette
the end of it burning
his gnarled broken fingers
he feels no pain yet
sobs inwardly from the weight
of insurmountable anguish
his fishing pole on his
right shoulder 5 liter box
of franzia cabernet
in his left hand
the stream arrives
he sits leans gainst
the old oak rests
his cane pole swigs
a long red river from
the box his eyes catch
the waxing moon he senses
fish he stares at the
bobber the hook no bait
with an inkless pen
on torn paper he
scribbles this poem
the ancient zen wino poet
I really dig this poem Ron.
-Jake.