Absinthe

 

Antidotes and Anecdotes to tear us through and through;
Irises, whipped egg yokes, such monochrome disasters.
Yet yellows stare at starry night all far to near:
The smashing sunsets yearning for the taste of soil.

For hundreds of white hot flares conflagrant
For our contemplative, tiny thoughts.
But we stare and stare at them until bleak
And bare and evade them one by one.

Acidic in esophagus; alluring corrosive tiny tears
Filling forlorn beings with direction here to there.
To the stream that steers day by day,
“hope never saw the beacon.”

Grab spiral straws to sip and sip the world
Until all small and shallow pools quietly devoured:
A whisper of everything there shatters to despair
All and only because of everyone so alive…

Who speaks of talk and everything,
Numb to anything by all its nothing.

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