better than anything I can offer sober
Our kind copes with fermentation, so my mother warns.
True, my genetic inheritance is primed to take over, but
the depth of my breath is so euphoric on the bridge,
swaying hot, surface cooled, swampy reflection below:
teeth stained purple; lip cells darkened. Mother,
I know I should be ashamed, I should be wondering why
my nervous system is displayed in grey branches below,
my silver sprawl of a thousand exposed, turned inside out,
why the cloud patterns in the algae are opening,
why the sounds of nature are in such agitation
and all the same chords keep repeating
in falling trills, inside my falling limbs,
heightening, lowering? But I swear
in these stilled, dark moments,
it’s better than anything
I can offer sober.