The hulk of the soul is left hollow and sole
Down where the men of grizzled chin
Down their drinks, down to the chin
Wherein the crusty-eyed and bleary-minded
Talk in hazy rivulets and dead-ends
But to what end? And to what purpose?
We are lost in the haze too, and purposeless
Kings and queens of the bottle and the dram
And where half-harded we attempt to hold our whole
The whole, the deficiency of our souls
Down by the hope and the anchor
With little hope and hardly an anchor to hold
M.M. — 27-Dec-2015
