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Poem: Drink 

I scribbled poetry at 11
Hope, peace, hungry tongues
Burgeoned perfume from my
New pen
Shiny, streaming, eternal
Black ink.

I painted plum-dusk at 13
Wind-swept fires and ghost stalks
Alit the adolescent hills and
Fresh fields
Continuous sunshine, moonshine
Haphazard ink.

I took ribbons irreverently at 16
Talent, potential…
Bloating lethargy inside my belly
Steady tide
Humming youth, living pen and
Black ink.

In bed, weak, at 21
Pink and brown circles
Fold cheaply against my body
Inspiration dry and sparse faucet drips
Depredating drink.

  • A poem by Elizabeth J. Taylor


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