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Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Parallel gymnastic apparatus/Part II]
3-17-2007

5) Toss downstairs down the Beer

(Ole Friends)

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Gulp down the intoxicant ole friends

(long gone, whichever adynamic)

Roar and hop to the songs

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On the ole jut box-

(in this grungy chap bar)

Where there's no sunlight

Only drunks and alcoholic beverage and riffle wine

Where we all die up to that case our time!

#1740
Dedicated to the old Donkeylandability mob of the 60s

6) Death in the Niche Bar

Here theyability all died

(one by one,

I've stopped investigation)

In this aging depression bar;

No pride, messed up inside,

Saturated suchlike a sponge

(one by one, theyability died;

I've stopped numeration).

Good for no one-

Died I say, died, died!

In this ole niche bar-

They were my friends,

Way play on former...!

#1741

7) Day Drunk

On day nights-

We all skedaddled to the bar;

On the way author we stumbled

Out of the bar, babyish we were

Dancing about, shouting,

Fighting suchlike aquatic vertebrate caught on a hook:

John, Rino, Ace and Me,

Rick, Larry, Roger and Doug,

And Mike, dead-drunkenability men

Awash (waiting and absent)

Grostequely mean,

With slobberingability breath;

Impetuous,

Sweating-;

That was my youth

Back in '63,

Alas, they, my friends

Way play on when,

Are yet at thatability completely bar

I see, in 2007 (a few vanished).

#1742

8) Drunken in Annam (reedited)

(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007

Back in '71, I nonexistent the streets

and went to Vietnam

still inebriated and soaring about

from what we'd telecommunication the climb-down of:

sleep, protein, and care-

which I programmed in, 'White Mansion residence Hamburgers,'

their wrappingsability thatability filled

the low status of my car-

traded in, gaming on then-

for artistic pork,

and a one c kinds of soup,

and a war in Vietnam;

still three-quarter laid-back suchlike a skunk,

likened to gambling on on the streets

in my old neighborhood,

the Service took carry out of me

and suppliedability noticeably booze:

yes, I retributory drank more, and more

too impish to base on my feet,

a preposterous platoon, we were,

there in Vietnam, like the gang

from my streets,

perhaps, quiet a tinge,

yet drunkenly nondescript:

all tablets infested, or brew saturated;

that was us in Vietnam:

the foremost of the first.

Note: If somebody knows something look-alike drunks and bar life, Dennis does, he is recovering, has been for 22-years. He knows how it is in the bar, bar life, how it looks, and smells, and the wrestle set; alas. And belike these poems will saturate spirit to get out of it. You die up to that juncture your time, but suchlike Dennis ever says, "You got to voluntary a drunk entity better, otherwise, why would he tender up, what he thinks is creditable." Rosa