In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
Where liquid courage flows like a serene stream,
Two star-crossed lovers, locked in love's dream,
Find solace in the bottom of a bottle's gleam.
Bukowski's grin is etched on every glass,
Shakespeare's ink paints every blade of grass,
Loves lost and won, the sands of time amass,
In every draught, a play, a sonnet, a farce.
"Oh Romeo, wherefore art thou in this dive?"
Juliet questions with Bukowski's jive,
In shadows deep, where life's low-lives thrive,
Both poets find where their spirits truly come alive.
"No music in the spheres, just jukebox hum,
No royal court, just the kingdom of ***,
Here in the tavern's dim and smoky slum,
Plays the sweetest song, to which my heartstrings strum."
Half-filled glasses, and half-empty hearts,
Where Shakespeare's art meets Bukowski's smarts,
Love’s theatre stages, in unseen parts,
A bittersweet tale of love that starts and departs.
Two poets' spirits, in timeless dance,
Ensnared within intoxication's trance,
Half a world built on romance,
And half a world built on chance.
In every verse of the drunken bard,
In every line where love is marred,
Lives the echo of a love discharged,
On pages stained, and hearts left scarred.
From Verona's walls to L.A.'s bars,
From tragic tales to visible scars,
Love, life, and all that mars,
Bound by the moon, and beneath the stars.
From Shakespeare's quill and Bukowski's gin,
A half and half where dreams begin,
In every sin, every win,
Life is but a tavern inn.
So here's to the poets, in verse and in drink,
For it's in their words, we begin to think,
Life’s half tragedy, half jest, in a blink,
The tale of us all, writ in permanent ink.