Heathen Rays of the Sunday Sky

A serpent slumbering in rice wine
stirring within the ebbing liquid,
contemplating the hidden meaning
of her curling hieroglyphic coils.

Incoherent in alcoholic bliss
she edges forward
to casually brush his lips
with a sweet fanged kiss
and he forgets
that he ever existed before.

Thoughts in a bucket
brain in a jar
my head is sore from blunt metaphor
like a third eye bruised black
from stumbling through perception’s door.

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