No Longer Will We Be Spooky-Eyed Motherfuckers

Before we ladle into the wineDark tide of the homebrewedHallucination chowder,

We must wait for the moonTo unbutton the untouchableSky, for the gift of its ebb & flow.

Then, good fortune will have usGuzzling from the bucketOf rhino butter & swan blood—

Twilight covered lips & a blackRichness will lacquer the teeth,Blooming us myth like—

Our wolfing throats gurglingHotcellarhot & glittergut untilThe fever soup wrings from us

Choked-out coos & a sudden,Magnificent dread hammersNumb our flopping. If the spirits

In the blazing air are going toAllow us beyond the taste,The spasms will stop after a final,

Spine racketing jolt. Loam-nailed,Damply breathing—a roar willWicked from our chicken-pocked

Faces. Slowly, we will burn down,Burn up, burn until the skin feelsScoured & frostbit cold, clean

Glinting—ready for the beautifulBoiling that comes next, for the fleshTo be perfectly longtorn. Luscious

Clusters blur & haze the charredBlue murk above us but in the bones—Unstoppable: a shudder bright & churn.