I didn't smoke anything that night.

I didn't smoke anything that night. I was just in the early stages of getting drunk. It was a goal that I had set out to accomplish. I tried so hard, but alas I didn't get as drunk as I wanted to. Pitty too, it would have been worth a raging hangover the next morning. I did however do some pretty mean howling if I remember right.
Oh to write the perfect ode to Poe
to dance in the same dark drunken halls
where pen and jack daniels ink dwell
waiting for some disjointed fool
to come and dance
and see strange sights
and record them for all of the world to see.
That is where I wanted to be
to slip my hand along the slippery walls
stained with vomitted thoughts
distarded by more prolific poets than me
to examin with scrutiny
their disgarded maggotous hamburgers
and find golden treasures deep with in.
To write the definitive work
that would secure my insanity
and give me entrance into their world.
But dammit!
Thou I keep trying
there is some dog with a raven on it's back
that keeps tell me
"Thou silly amature
you'll never get in here
never more"
...2 cents...