I
Among twenty tipsy bodies,
The only pouring spirit
Was the the bottle of Old Crow.
II
I was on three cups,
Like a drunk
In which there are three Old Crows.
III
The Old Crow bought in the dirty store.
It was a small glimpse of the ugly truth.
IV
A bear and a rummy
are one.
A bear and a rummy and some Old Crow
are one.
V
I can't decide which I like best
The splendor of consumption
Or the splendor of drunkenness
The sipping Old Crow
Or right after.
VI
Ice cubes filled the tall glasses
With frozen blocks.
The brown stain of the Old Crow
Floated through the cup
The amber
Cutting through the clear
An indivisible liquid.
VII
O posh men of New York,
Why do you ingest mossy scotch?
Do you not know the Old Crow
Works on the minds
Of the ladies around you?
VII
I know brilliant linguists
And undeniable arguments
I also know,
That the Old Crow is a part
Of what I know.
IX
When the Old Crow dwindled away,
It left traces
Of one of several evenings.
X
At the smell of Old Crow,
In the languor of night,
Even a little rummy bear
Will breathe in deeply.
XI
She drove across California
In a small car.
Panic overtook her
When she imagined
The prospect of the future
Without Old Crow.
XII
The round earth is turning
The Old Crow must be flowing.
XII
It was Friday all week long.
It was windy.
And it had just gotten cold.
The Old Crow poured
In the chilly room.
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