Fresh Meat Fridays #3

Here at FMF, you will find my latest, uncut creations fresh off the fire-hot grill of my mind. These are poems that were written earlier in the week but which have not yet been workshopped/refined. I hope they will give you some idea of what goes on in the mind of a poet (or at least this poet) who is attempting to create a piece of art from the ether of artistic creation.

my muses are drunk texting me

the words flash and slosh around

my screen like beer in the funnel

of my 5th consecutive beer bong.

whiskey. keyboard. drivel.

interesting,

but meaningless.

I begin to wonder how many

the muses have had up there

at the great kegger in the sky.

wolf. drowning. pansies.

what the fuck am I supposed

to do with that?

driver. guns. it.

at least those words

follow logic.

swallow. the. words.

as. they. flow. through.