(I tried to make a page for it, but I don’t know how to post stuff there yet. Here’s the link.)

Anyway, here’s an abcdarian (that means every line starts with a letter of the alphabet that follows) poem that I wrote last year. Enjoy.

And thus, the Lord spoke to me from an open
Bottle of Jack Daniel’s: “I am the Lord your God,
Creator of all things—including the alcohol you currently
Drink.” Indeed, one could say I was drunk. But who would try to make such a claim?
Even Jesus wouldn’t drudge up such an issue with me—we’ve had our problems.
For I was only as drunk as a harmonica sings softly from the
Ganges, where one probably wouldn’t hear
Harmonicas. Unless Indians have harmonicas. Which I doubt because
Indian instruments are uncommon to me. Although just because
Justice lies in the bottoms of peaches or maybe their pits,
Keyboards never sound as grand as pianos. While I’m
Lying about loitering down by the liquor store; it sounds like truth to
Me. Maybe I won’t escape alcoholism that runs through my family name like
Nuns running to stop a virgin from a deflowering defamation.
Only God can judge you.
Polonius said, “This above all: to thine own self be true.” Yet Hamlet still
Questions why his father couldn’t go out like Caesar, killed by an honorable,
Righteous man, right? The righteous man will inherit
Something, although I can’t recall the psalms or beatitudes.
Thus says the Lord:
“Until you know why, you’ll never know how.” I made that up. Like how
Virgins get pregnant. Or how Walt Whitman
Weaves together words like water turns to wine. No need for
X-rays. It’s already established I’ve got no spine. Soon no Liver to live. Why ask why I’m
Yellow? From too much booze. Good times turn sour with drinks made of sours. I believe in the
Zodiac, which supposedly makes me crazy. In all fairness, I’m a Libra.