This poem was originally performed January 1, 2013, for the Tuesday Funk Reading Series. It was later published in The Piltdown Review.
I make it my general practice not to drink and write. At least, I try not to drink when writing fiction, where the prose should be clear and lucid as water, even as it refracts the light. But poetry's a different matter. A little whisky never hurt a poem. Not much, anyway. Certainly not this glass of it, distilled from smoke that might have scribbled words like these in the air as it jittered away, leaving only this amber residue, not so transparent as it appears. ∅
Nice one, Bill.