Poem-A-Day: Day 292

Sonnet #57 (All Shook Up)

because it knows I have no time to search,
I, looking up if only for disdain
as ramblings of a madman, drunkard’s plea
in helping relieve bitter from the bland,
for better things, and better days ahead
manage to masquerade my humble life
seated high above on its devil perch,
and swamp the land in agony and dread,
but lose the edge while walking on the knife,
like looking keen ahead to help me drown
and end up in the same disaster spree.
Instead I drive the blissful from the brain.
     Somewhere distorted bottles lend a hand.
     The bottle’s tempting vision stares me down…