My heavy head is drunk again.
My lines unclear like this.
Caught between this terrible beauty
And my fearful abyss.

The thin, blue line of my cigarette
Spills verse with trembling hands.
The flicked grey ash tumbles out 
Thoughts on an empty page.

I write inside a drunken arc,
Each sip a skipped regret.
I chase each line through static fog, 
That drinks itself again.

I write and knock my empty glass
Over unfinished lines.
I rest my brow. My bleary eyes
Close me into sleep.