like pillars of sugar and oregon leaves.
the tongue can only taste the luscious,
the curious and the kind, for no lost tension
leaks juices from spoiled flesh. when i heard
no one took their tongue and made it sing
for you i sat sipping, the liquor burning
searing my throat until dually i was drunk
and hung-over. it's a holy ghost and a kingdom
for the bots who hunt you down in tired woods,
come home, eat their kill with pitchers of grog,
choke you down with a few lies.
truth makes an ale that is bitter and sweet
like the boys who rise up to fuck you.