Array
(
[sid] => 142882
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A Hangover
[time] => 2008-06-02 01:53:34
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => In the morning, ‘fore last
Night jousts in pangs,
‘Fore she recalls gins, or origins,
And she is up for grabs,
And any name sinks in its fangs;
When any pauper nabs
At the greasy feathers on her wings,
When the sunlight lays siege
On perfected rot and pecks in disarray
At the impeccable softness of day --
And stains the thrush’s throat that sings,
‘Fore she remembers the antidote of rum
To drown out the humdrum
Villains who come and go,
Leaving the doorway open for a skin,
Or another accomplice
Circa tombs of light-locked pumice,
She reaches for an aspirin
To quell the shapeless sin.
[comments] => 0
[counter] => 165
[topic] => 43
[informant] => screwge
[notes] =>
[ihome] => 0
[alanguage] => english
[acomm] => 0
[haspoll] => 0
[pollID] => 0
[score] => 0
[ratings] => 0
[editpoem] => 1
[associated] =>
[topicname] => oops
)
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