Am meisten gelesen ▸
Dave Bonta
O my bladder
strain to reserve one
spoonful of beer
morning and evening
you are a new-drawn knife
old canary
you never sing till night
a great discharging
a slug is light lined with velvet
a modish rider on foot
full of beer he is a prodigal memorandum
signed and sealed
on the arithmetic of pleasure
beer and cheer and howl
form a neighborhood
the company of kin and others
a bland plenty
but so much hurt
in an ugly mouth
that sings like a glass ruin
of the church
so hard to banish
all nonconformists
Bet for beer, I put
the white king
in the park at night.
sipping your beer
torture with violence
while im here
suffering in silence
I ASKED professors who teach the meaning of life to tell
me what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of
thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though
I was trying to fool with them.
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along
the Desplaines river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with
their women and children and a keg of beer and an
accordion.