Drinking has been an exercise in
lunacy and sorrow, 
like jumping off a cliff for
tomorrow's dead dreams.
The fruit of the vine should 
be sweet and sentimental, 
like mamas and moonlight.
With a fistful of memories and
a soul full of pain, 
I try it all again; 
I chase the phantom.                
                    This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem