| Drunk Author: |
Dave Dial |
| When: |
7/6/2002 11:22:35 PM |
| What: |
bad drunken poems of yore |
| Why: |
I heard a Doors song playing, looked out toward the ocean and with Corona(s) in one hand and a pen in the other...as the sun dropped in the West...and beach goers seemed to all be departing...wrote… |
| de comment: |
Almost to good to be drunken.
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| The Lizard Embryo |
Reminiscent,
Shadows stretched taut, imprisoning the barren beach (a soul reeking of
emptiness).
No one plays here now.
Was this size=4>Jim s pacifier? The pier? Venice? The
Palisades?
No one knows now.
Beginnings.
Scribbles on a rooftop/Sonnets beneath the stars/Lyrics which opened
Doors/An ode to a generation.
Before
Paris, there lay Santa Monica, tranquil, serene, a
breeding ground for the Lizard King.
Dave Dial
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| Author, Dave Dial |
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