Bukowski Kevin Nordle Angelic dipsomaniac— Celestial bar fly— Bawl nostalgic hymns of home— A Sot’s intemperate Rhyme. Strong spirits yield weak souls in men, In drink they drown in vice— Though they know they lose themselves, They perpetually pay the price. For loss breeds saints and blessedness In those who use it well— Brings mirth from mire as Lotus Flowers rise up from the depths of Hell. O sing to me poetic verse! Breathe life on every page! Drink deep of wine and nectar Sweet—yet deeper of sacrilege. And I your humble student shall Rejoice and praise your name— The leaves you wrote drape on my Mind, as I hang laurels on your grave.
Published on Dec 10, 2010