Come aboard the crypt and see
the reason to not want hastily.
There, odors ensue and liquors
are like candy eaten voraciously
by the thinking few.
Fermented death and holy wars,
obnoxious exhibitions of the feeble,
give discretionary cautions for the
sheep inclined to evil, "The darkness
and its poisons strangles seeds
and keep the root from life."
They mingle as ghosts approach
with gifts of tranquility and surprise.
Decadent reds brown to gold
becoming amber maroon, a deadly hue.
Enticing pinks cloud in milk of grass
while green cream liquids jump the heart--
it beats too fast.
The slivers seen of snaking smoke
are sharply spent on guests and folk;
the noble and the liars share wine
and weed, the indignant and the kind
relenting and relating to the veining
serpents intoxicated bliss.
The white walls like a transparent
sky kiss the powder clouds that
make them fly, and the ocean's
clarity, a glass liquid hall, directs
the bearers of this drunken pall.
Drunken Pall written by Michael Aaron Casares. Originally published in the publication, Ghost Roads (2008, Virgogray Press). All rights reserved.