Archives for posts with tag: wine

Air thick

with sweat and ethanol

and scents strong enough

to kill at fifteen feet, wound

at thirty. Limbs full

of amber-filled glassware

that apologise out of feigned respect

and part the sea back

to their transient homes.

 

Darting and

moving to the beat of

everyone and the incessant noise;

a faux libation to a god

they’ve never heard of:

alcohol and electro,

wine and music, if you listen

closely enough, you can hear that Dionysian heart

breaking.

 

Heraclean wannabes

putting on shows of primitive strength

and foolishness, peacocks

dancing, their tails spread out

like painful nightmares draped

in awkward silences, seeking a validation

they can’t seem to recognise.

 

Girls with skin on fire, glowing vainly

and garbed to suit,

water-boarding those peacocks

with pheromones, playground teasers

using genetically given gifts

to fool those fools for the sake

of my voyeuristic amusement.

 

It’s all enough

to make Schopenhauer

vomit, but

he was probably wrong

anyway.

He swims reds seas, drowning,

if he could; his lungs fill

but not enough, never enough,

to release him. See-thru green

islands wait, false idols,

skewed views, unreality, the only place

he survives.

 

Pebbles litter the shore,

he harbours them, protection from the light

and the dark, keeps

them close, guards them,

illusive saviours untying his knots,

not weighing him down,

stopping his flight so high

and burning upon re-entry.

 

The ground is hard

and unforgiving. He hits it

with dawn and dusk

and lays there

until he can swim

again.

 

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