They are all of them
drunks,
those THINGS you admire,
drunken
on wine,
on anger,
on misery.
They are all of them
drunks,
drunken
on life,
on women,
on men,
drunken
on pills,
on love,
on hatred.
They are all of them
drunks,
drunken
on murder,
on death,.
on dying
Sick with it,
blind with it,
wide mouthed jars
filled to the rim
spilling out
nothing,
splattering their fists
against the air.
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