Friday, January 29, 2016

spiritual hangover

scintillating trickling falls
dreams of hybrid days
broken one by one by one
beneath superfluous weight

days half honest, half a lie
pulpit mornings, whiskey nights

Soon,

cast away, moor-less, rocking free
drowning, shouting, laughing sea

float, float, float?
Nay.

sink below and close
red eyes one final time,
seek such soft repose,

Next,

half-witted, waking, honest
singed by sun betides,
such broken wakeful measures
such stumbling, infant strides

dissolved away in whiskey,
pressed free like foaming wine,
fermented so very cellary,
with long forgotten time

the past presents no present,
looming wall of ocean rime,
once mutable now fixéd,
these memories of crime

what way, what with, what burden,
what day, what hour, what sign?
will whisk one free from whimsy,
and through black gates resign?

I shift and shit and sacrifice,
bearing burdens of that ocean ice,
I’ll break free, or die in deed,
(someday soon, we shall see).
I am done with cautionary ‘vice.






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So I've added a tip jar to the blog, in the form a Patreon Campaign. 

If you've gotten any worth out of these poems and stories and experimental fiction and what-have-you, please consider donating. Any amount would be greatly appreciated and help to ensure I am able to keep doing this (this is one of my only sources of income now).


Thanks,
Edward

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