2282: Heading Down

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Empty an overflowing canopic jar
of such thick sour juice by tipping
it out [sleep will never unbind me

whilst waking with a dream’s ills]
& I’ll swivel in my sweat-mopping
duvet – I’ll avoid softer nudges of

raked-up dwams by drinking less
& praying more [whomever hears
will be welcomed here] – A dusk’s

reoccurrence is a dour prelude to
each of my concerns – we re-align
half-emptied vitrics over half-full

trays – hit squads of treacled shot
glasses parade badly by morning
& daylight – mashed blue agave &

fingerprints tell all there is unsaid
because my mouth cannot speak
with such a confection of alcohol

left in my body – I sweat scents of
an impetuous night – quick burial
in a pillow – my breath is reckless

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