Baudelaire said to be drunk, always, so this morning I am choosing tea and sunshine, music, the hinting breath of maybe some kind of creation that’s knocking at the cabinet door to get out, just on the other side of this cup of kindness. You are what you eat, and drink, and probably sights and sounds pile on and add to that sum total, too; I hear the ding of the adding machine as it tallies me all up, illuminated this morning by the kitchen windows and bright on the inside in spite of a sleepless night. Drunkenness? Why not: draw deep, drink it all in.
Reading about Prose Poetry the other day, YOU KNOW WHERE but yes of course in Mary Oliver’s Poetry Handbook, I saw the name of Baudelaire: a name I often thought of when I was a teenager but had ignored for a few decades. A quick search online brought me his epic Be Drunk poem, and here you have the result of my reflection upon it. Thank you for reading!
The Poetry Patio 