One too many from the looking glass
by Darius Ajai Frasure


Again, I sit
back toward reflection
lead-weighted pillow and jazz
mourning the lost life
and forsake flight

Breaths fog and echo 
beating against this chamber chalice
that once contained the skeleton
of memory intuition
just a shadow how shallow
the deep end bottom of this glass
shot of piss and maple
and oak aged to perfection This drink 
and I no longer in our fermenting 
skins or presses
or caskets

We are costly now
smooth 
aired-out and bitter
in the end 






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