Spain,
I Walked
In
Building’s
Shade,
Every
Blazing
Street
An
Uphill
Grade.
In
Between
Countries,
I Was
Waiting
For
A
Flight.
Champagne
Cost
One
Dollar
A
Chill
Bottle,
And,
Recklessly,
I Drank
My
Fill.
At
Breakfast,
My
Hands
Shook
As
The
Cook
Served
Fried
Egg
Accusations.
Soon,
I Began
To
Fear
My
Brain
Was
Melting
Out
My
Ear,
And
Flew
On
To
England
Just
In
Time
To
Send
You
This
Hung
Over
Rhyme.
XX