those eyes with worn-through pinholes
watch words drip like an engine
while hands tap slow and sweetly
watch words drip like an engine
while hands tap slow and sweetly
reciting
oh reciting
those joyous
frantic
poems
still cheeks blush yellow from drowning
with shiv’ring shoulders rounding
as languid hymns are whispered
recalling
oh recalling
those faithful
ebbing
poems
his listful language dreaming
in drunken rapture, sleeping
his bottle gently bleeding
in drunken rapture, sleeping
his bottle gently bleeding
remembering
oh remembering
those deadly
youthful
poems
Hope Helps 
This is in memory of a poet I met at a juggling convention in England.He was the most incredible poet I've ever met. He had thousands of his own poems memorized, and he used to recite them for us, word-for-word. He had written everything from 30-second limericks to ballads that took 15 to 20 minutes to recite.He was dying when I met him in his late twenties. A heavy drinker and smoker, he was already showing signs of liver failure, and knew his days were numbered. I've never been able to figure out if he was inspired because of, or in spite of his infirmity.
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What a beautiful tribute.
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