Five wines in a row;

starts on Oriental form of prose,

mindful of the rules.


Six wines on the trot;

oh, five-seven-five, I get it.

World stop moving now!


Seven wines down the hatch.

Li’l trouble now, in patches

slack-lapses prove it.


Eight wines, oh dear god!

Such slick-ellipses of thought:

Confidence returns!


Nine wines, back on top.

World my oystered-pearl once more,

(though grit-clogged with sand).


Ten wines, I’m replete

Self-deception lets me state,

One too many wines.



Erik Kaisson, 2017



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