He's at the bar drinking with his buddies
They can barely understand him
His words are slurry
His vision is blurry
He asks for one more beer
They say 'okay last one'
15 beers later it's closing time.
My heart is the true poet
Whatever it wants my body works for it
My cramping hand slowly glides the paper
Quickly being filled with letters
Stringing the paper and filling its empty void
I think to myself, 'just one more'
I am no better than the alcoholic
They have an aching head the next morning
I have an aching hand
I don't know when to stop
I love writing about nothing and everything
Each poem I write sparks a new one
'Just one more,'  every poet says.