Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
We sat next to the raging fire,
watched the embers spiral up,
smoking and joking,
we drank Mr. Jefferson,
talked ****,
drunken like sailors.

The rabbits were nearby,
caged, waitin' for their dedication
to the survival-gods.
The growling of the big cat
was an eye-opener,
felt rather creepy.
But sometime in
the middle of the night,
there was a visitation.
The long-eared mammals
would not make the
gutting-presentation,
the owls go to them first.

I woke up with cotton-mouth,
thirsty as hell,
studied the print patterns
that circled our camp.
It was a huge panther for sure.
Paul woke up
a spell past noon,
thirsty too.
Who knew
we'd lose our meal
to some flying tigers
& whiskey.
McLain & Kyne, the company responsible for creating and bottling Jefferson's Reserve, believe that bourbon is the true spirit of America. They embrace this philosophy by utilizing indigenous grains (corn, malted barley, and rye) and the clean, crisp limestone water of Kentucky to produce their quality whiskies.

On the nose, Jefferson's Reserve exhibits sweet aromas of peach, vanilla, raisin, and butterscotch. Full-bodied with a smooth, velvety texture, this bourbon displays complex notes of dates, blackberry, and orange complemented by caramel, toffee, and oak. The finish is warm and lingering, with reemerging notes of vanilla and raisin.
Drunk
Drunk
Drunk
Here we go again
The sweet burn as the poison slithers down your throat
like a snake slowly creeping up to it’s prey
I walked away this time
I didn’t go too far
Only some alcohol and some hydrocodone
Where will I go from here?
I’m heavy on my feet and quick in my head
All I want is sleep
I can’t have it
I always have to take it
howl my name to this yellow witching hour moon
run with me through this enchanted snow ridden forest
we can run with the pack
and go off to explore the many wonders
of this enriched ******* white ground
bury a few bones, catch a deer or two, together.
Creatures of the wind
swift, like a spensarian sonnet
harsh, like the rough seas
cold, as my beating heart
beautiful, as the eyes that stare back into mine
with nothing but instinct and desire behind them

— The End —