I admit tonight I feel a little groggy--
There's no use pretending it isn't true;
My eyes are red, my brain's a little foggy--
Three afternoon beers will do that to you.
So poetry's not foremost on my noggin
Tonight, and for that I apologize;
Fatigue and stress and alcohol is cloggin'
The pathways I traverse when cracking wise.
I had my reasons for getting all buzzy
So long before the sun sank in the west;
No poet always makes a gem, now does he?
He hopes you'll skip his worst, and read his best.
The muses who refuse us will return;
Meanwhile let Bacchus smack us with his urn.
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