Bradford Middleton



I hate New Years Eve and always will since the one when she left

But somehow it took me until the age of forty-four until I spent one

Like this past one, 2015-2016 was spent with a big old bottle of

Something real good


A top French red, Chateauneuf-de-Pape, which came home with me

Got drunk and subsequently put me off my usual routine for a couple of

Weeks as all other booze seemed to taste horrible and it made me

Realize that good is bad for me


Give me harsh, strong cheap red wine and I’ll drink it ever more

Until I’m drunk beyond my dreams and I’ll just carry on that way

Drinking gut-rot wine and spending my days being out of my mind

Being as bad as the wine I drink.






My mind is spliced

As the words I spew are fucked


My mind has lost its will

My words simply capitulate

My shoes are piled high

Whilst my records are a mess

I use them to kill the termites eating my room

My flat just itches as it’s devoured

But still my words remain fucked


Three joints before breakfast

Leaves my mind real fucked-up

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