Poem - Bingo Ball Life

the poet drinks,

at the poisoned person well,

the pain a clarity narcotic,

nightmare and vision simultaneously,

overindulge and you lie there, your soul gutted,

between recoveries a long journey

around or alongside the path,

avoiding pretty much all persons,

then someone takes your fancy,

your feelings are flung about like bingo balls,

in between the muse plucks you out,

reads your number and throws you back again,

you capture pain capriciously,

and each time, you fall deeper, deeper,

..so it goes a poet’s life