Holy Drinker Poem by jean maudit

Even the solitary drinker in me
doesn't want to know.
I've spilt myself too many times,
knocking over the holy wine.

Well, I guess I've got to pick myself up,
get out of the gutter,
dust down my battered hat.

I've yawned so many rainbows
that I don't even know
where I left my guts, it's like trying
to find your pants after a party.

How am I ever going to get to heaven?
I can't turn up wearing my soul
like a dirty old raincoat.

Sometimes the air seems so pure
I can breathe the colour blue.