At once I’m granted motion
With the bound’ries of a body
And the boundless thoughts of time;
I’m stranded in an ocean
Of a snifter bowling toddy,
And my mind’s best set to rhyme.

It seems a waste to some men,
But by me, the drug will do,
If the spice it solves is born
So I’m too drunk to contend
That the space beyond my mew

Could be void poetic form.