Poison runs into
my brain as
intoxication
creates
new terraces of the temple
with pathways rough
and sewers at
my side
Perhaps there are
pits of azure
and wells of fire
where moons and comets
seas and fables
meet
And in my stupor
I do imagine
saphire and metal
lights
where reality vomits
its thickness
of the globe
ALCOHOLIC ACCORDION