Pitsy

I wish upon you all the blessing of alcohol

I wish upon you none the beast it may become

In the solitary confines where coincidence allows

its head, ruffian, to be found, and glory, sensible prowess

to combine as a constant -the synapse is to be content

floating in the essence of that which we flee with the substance.

And then, one moment careless, invaded the next

by the monster of melancholy of a liquor once benevolent

no more -it arrives, the beast, with no fanfare to announce

just the loss of all spirit diluted by wine.

When the veritas we won vanishes

within the vortex we admittedly created

there shall be no trespass upon the small death

intoxicated- and when once subsided, the wave

slurped away the ceiling of warm dreams,

there is nothing better to mourn but mourning.