Pour me a glass
pour yourself a whisky
now sit beside me
tell me what you fear
what haunts your whisky sours
what rebels in your humdrum heart
is it okay if I let go
of your hand for a moment?
we don’t have enough ice
for your troubles
but this night
is the night of sorrows
and two drunks
who dip their pens
in alcohol, and write
a tipsy poem.
A heathen poet 