On
The counters of poetry
I dock and lock myself
Then
I scope on the bottles of liquors seductively
And spellblind by their syllables
I took the shakers and hybrid
The Similes
The Onomatopeia's
The Nemesis'
The Near-Rhymes
And The Triadic-Lines
Then I gulp fourteen shots of Sonnets
From my paper-glass
And glug a paradox
Or a foil-sigh
Trice,
The knots
Bundling my eloquence
Will exonerated itself
And torpidity will cuff my consciousness
And the droplets remains in my paper- glass
Will impel me
To quest for myriad of them

I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stock on a comedy chair

Then
When the
Limbs of time tread
Will I rush to the counter
Like the athletes at Olympia
And hybrid
The Blank-verses
The Alliterations
The Limericks
The Litotes
The Aporia's
And The Dysphemism's
And
Gulp countless
Yet measured shoots
Of Ballad,with my paper-glass
And unravel the oratories
Of sacred secrets,eclectic enchantment and regrettable reflexes
Aside,or injects the world
With my rugged pins of eruditions
Bestowed in me by the liquors of poetry

I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stocked on a comedy-chair

Again
I will rush
To the counter,and hybrid
The Exaggerations
The Personifications
The Imageries
And The Caesura's
And
Gulp uncounted shoots
Of Epic's from my paper-glass
And
Eulogise my steam and wit
Yet,I'm drunk
And deeply drunk wholly
By a might that mortify me so much
That I've become a slave
In the awe of my servitude

Now and then
Will I weep and wail terribly
Each morning,each noon,and each night
For the great demise of myself
And for an emancipation
From the perpetual counter-cells poetry
I'm drunk,and deeply drunk by poetry.

Deeply Drunk
©Historian E.Lexano

Thunder talking away
The water makes a deadpan expression
Apparently, it has broken the levee
There are plenty of fish in the scenery
The colors of the water seem cold and pale
Like the bloodless sun, orange in the November rain
Rain falls like the hallowed name
Empty as the words unspoken and unsaid
The laying dead were rotting in the made bed
As the cat crossed the street in the red of the alleyway
At Abusey Junction
As I saw I placed myself in a mention some girl in compunction
Compunction is the feeling of regret
I had felt the loss of someone dead
Now I meet her alive in the flesh
The stray dog doesn't break its spirit until its rabid and dead
Stuck in the rabbit hole of poverty and bucket full of paint
Yes it's some schmuck who takes care of the government
That looks like it
White house
A titbit, a yesteryear
Making a smidgeon on the books I tear
Apologetic but delightful as a library in the storm
By learning more about the wisdom you take from unadulterated undulation
Rap that you heard
Over the grapevine with the bebop that you heard
Come in strong like Marley
Last long Davis, rhyming onomatopeia
Bumblepuppyish about ya
Now what in a toward glance
Due change your mind
On a place you find
The room with a view of the home you're in
I'm trying to find your sister under the meadow
The same weariness in lieu of the window at the funeral
Stained by rain of war undermining