from grain to glass.
empire burlesque
so dies the hidden vapours in a mouth.
the coldest month brings water to my den.
it is here I flourish brighter
than the shells I walk upon.
each face as once remembered
now exiled from the light Bukowski owned.
new colours. new beginnings.
I have fallen from the thin side
of a jealous mind devoid of all
of expected attributes and innocence.
where sharpens all but dull and dreary lives
each pandering to the devil\'s wives
with their tangerines all circling their prey.
the great white skin that stretches as it heaves.
ten tiny gods have I to guard against.
with my well oiled props and beer-hops
picking purple flowered crocus
while my mother bears her secrets
to the drunkards hanging high above my chin.
another perfect day
has let me in.
from grain to glass.
this happiness within;