Drinking Poem

Three twenty seven and her head
spins, impaled on
the sometimes up,
sometimes down of drunken gaze,
gauze fastened to her knee, no, it's not
permanent, but I'd appreciate a bit more
push and pull every now,
every then.

Drunken poems always sound obscure.
Tumble dry makes a good ham sandwich,
I say
Tumble dry might have been a servant in the 1910s
I say
When my mouth gets dry I drink gin and pray to god
I feel better about myself this time.