297 - I'm tired and drunk and desperate for my bed

I’m tired and drunk and desperate for my bed,
And so I’ll write this sonnet and retire,
And in the morning won’t care what I said,
As long as something’s written (what a liar!)
Of course I should try hard, I should perspire
To write the truth, but frankly, do you care
If I say anything, or walk the wire
Between fact and fiction, dream and nightmare?
To be meaningful’s more than I can bear
In my current state, with my screwed up head,
With Bacchus lewdly strumming his old lyre
And fixing me with his old red-eyed stare.
Tonight with Spanish food I am well fed,
And so to bed, and its surreal empire.
thur 28 June 2007