What follows can be blamed on the brandy and painkillers.

I've got a supreme headache,
and I want to write poetry.
I can't somehow manage,
to make this poem rhyme.

But then, I think, to myself,
why must a poem rhyme?
I will write a poem, anyhow.

It doesn't even have to have,
uniformly sized paragraphs,
or simple, melodic words,
like breeze, and moonlight.

It can be
abrupt.
Absurd.
Silly.
Pointless.

Because! It's my own
sweet little own
poetry.

My headache is better,
because of that brandy and water,
my holiday is near,
and my mind is clear.

And that was to,
demonstrate, and demon state,
That rhyme I can...
make no mistake.

And as I write,
this ridiculous verse,
I hear a voice in my head,
sing out these words...

In a style similar to
the opera of the Italians,
or Russians...
A fat old woman in my head..

Singing. My poem.
In.
My.
Headdd.