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A Poem Speculating on the Mysterious Youth of Samuel Beckett |
Beckett walked the
foggy boulevards
of Paris, weeping, crying
like a baby
like a teenage
sailor
from
Marseilles,
brooding on
cocaine and
codeine
shattered
to the core
over his beautiful and lost love
and he
added to the mix
a lot of Irish whiskey
finally collapsing
in the blackness of an alleyway
feeling
like his heart
had been pierced
by her pimp’s
dagger
and the bleeding
would never
end.
copyright 2007
Doug
Draime |
