Tides from a star tyrannical pour
From skies otherwise bare sanguine,
A crude colour mostly buried under
Tones darker than real, or pale
As the viper’s belly, poison dripping;
Ready the glass.
Choose what evils you wish for
Or such tendencies curtail tidily
With ramparts of fine barometrically
Tested mind-matter, the soul a somnambulant’
Silent witness, bearer to this;
What we wish.
Vertical, super helical light spins
In formations foreign and diabolical,
The pour of abyssal plains weight
In such light sunbeams dash
The little fears of many decades
Brewed on dank ocean beds, such as
We oft overlook.
Those gestating virii dream in abysses
Darker than black mayst suggest or
Those living in the heady light may
Wot of, visions without tincture formed
From the viper venom kept in glasses
Sheltered from light.
Drink up, and let more than we know
Fill these rusted veins, tired relics that
Call post-poison shuddering paroxysm,
Amidst lacerations before the necessary balm,
The bitter become death stench heavy;
By far untenable.