Flipping birdies to the most-so saddled and sad but so long-ago when I would sip, sizzle, and then, and only then, straddle the cans of bulbous beers being benign Sutter Home—sunk sun sucked and stolen, taken from under the cabinet, my Mom’s red, red wine, that every single time I’d take one of the little 8 ounce bottles I’d be rattled cotton skylarking and Reprimanded, me caught red-handed by my Dad—he would get mad at me for sucking down the “spirits of liquors” each and every night—until I got Sober in 2016—he was so GLAD I didn’t rely on a static-buzz of butterflies singing and zinging through my brain, that the “static fuzz” of “a beer buzz” was so much so unattractive to me, that A.A. only twice, I did see… it the Anonymous part I introduced myself as my real name, what was I (Warsaw) my name “Jeff” they wanted me to keep that secret, so oops—when I call in the Troops!

Drinking no longer, it SUITS me well, having gone to Church collecting 70+ Sunday Service pamphlets, smell of the air, I didn’t drink pre-denomination (“demon”) those hundred Sunday mornings, me Sober to stay that way, not to sway or stumble, the drinking— I’m no longer able, to and here, where my apartment is dear (my John Deere Stocks) and nearest the fuss of fucks entering my apartment while I’m downstairs and when I’m asleep in bed, not having had any head for years now, oh how brown cow?

Ask the peeping parents’ Crowns, and my vapid Frowns!