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The Kingdom is like a Bottle of Wine

A bottle of red wine sat on his stoic porch stair

it seemed to stare at him with insolence, smug

in knowing the presence of gravity as it aged before him.

Was it the morphine that convinced him it was alive?

Oh aren’t you just a know it all, sitting there judging me

with your liquid soul and your paper label.

So tell me, O Buddha, the meaning of life

and why you shouldn’t be tasted with fish.

The words on the label twisted into a mouth

a disdainful one, I might add

it seemed like that caterpillar that plagued Alice

yeah, that’s it and it said life has no meaning

and you can drink me with fried brain

for all I care.

Fried brain, very funny asshole

but I resent the way you look at me.

He  picked up a corkscrew and jammed it into the bottle’s head

and twisted and twisted as it looked at him

plaintively and with curiosity.

He poured the wine onto the ground

and smashed the bottle against the wall.

He heard a heavy sigh and was overcome

with regret and grief not for the wine lost

but the chance forever forsaken

to redeem his lost mind.

 

The smell of the wine entered his nostrils

and he saw for a moment somebody’s heaven

misplaced and forgotten.

Car exhaust fumes, mildew, peppermint gum and nakedness.

Somebody yelled Hey Alice your pizza’s here

a faint sound of Joy Division and sick laughter

he could not move looking up through the telephone wires

a sky of black touched by moonlit clouds.

His words twisted into a mouth

NO REASON NO REASON.

Broken and empty at the kingdom’s gate.

 

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