1. Butter-Wine


Wine clogs my throat like a butter,

Thick and stifling, blood red

Like the veins in my eyes:

Roots grappling for life behind

Black and empty pupils.


The butter-wine catches

My quiet words before they’ve chance

To sting my tongue and teeth;

To stain my lips with lies

The colour of my heart.


Behind a bitter dam

My words, a swarm of bees

Hum a silent poison protest

Demanding freedom and

The chance to show their hue.


Be still, my bees, I am your queen;

I halt your liquid surge

With a sober purpose,

For it is exhausting.

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