Pearls for Pretty Swine

Cheap wine is medically proven
to rot your mind and given the time
you will disappear down the bottle neck
and come to a deep red understatement.
Distilled knowledge
in the headache light,
humidity rising early morning warning signs
as you stagger from the bar into the moving street
“Don’t throw your pearls before the swine!”
but it’s too late
it’s already spent on those wretched machines
chasing victory through illusory contraptions,
and now bent double
sharing your wisdom with the fetid gutters of Newtown.

This is the last time
and your very blood is aching to escape
intoxicated logic and simplistic divination
crawling awful thoughts
through calcified arteries and capillaries tired,
taking your poison
in careful and correct dosage.

You cry out to a crucified deity
confused yet convinced of your relevance
unsure of your doubling visions
and repetitive tendencies, intimate inconsistencies
ultimate reprieve on a sleepless evening
all sharp crystal edges and diamond-cutting blood-letting bleach clean sensibilities
now stained with a thin layer of thought and impaired juggernaut ravings
scribbled in uneven ink and offering
no insight no truth no salvation
and all this time you were hiding behind the words
that were going to set you free.

Standing alone like a broken monolith
savaged by sea and teeth and spite,
it’s cold out there on the edge of being
and wreathed in foreign text,
nothing is obscure anymore
and yet you perceive no sense
swaying there stoned and stone broke,
wailing inside and seeking up and down an empty beach
with 3am madness cursing bitter as bile.

Remember only what is worthwhile.

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