I have not taken an alcoholic drink in over 15 years. For some strange reason, however, I found myself the other day wondering what it would be like to have a couple of drinks before a session with the Moodle. Not nearly as delightful, I decided: life with the Moodle is so satisfying, thrilling, complete and, yes, intoxicating, why would one need to have a drink? To steady the nerves, perhaps? But I have learned to live with my Moodle nerves, Internet anxieties and technological tremors: slightly delirious, but in a good way.
And from that thought comes this bit of verse:
Horace the wine-lover condemned
the water-drinking poet and his joyless
short-lived verse; but alcohol can take us
out of the sharply focused moment
into rabbit-eared fuzzy delirium.
The poet must know when she is having
a crisp good time; or bad; or gravy-soaked,
well-chewed indifference.
So I, the designated scribbler, print
these words on mineral water paper -
ice and lemon - unsoiled by bacchanalian
font or rugby club language.
Sip as much ode ordinaire as you like,
swilling reader, but note this
on a napkin: eyes that scan Horace
must never read verse of mine,
for I, well hydrated, scratch the glossy,
blotchless skin of unliquored truth,
walk clear thought's unbroken yellow line,
intoxicated with soberness divine.
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