The Advocate Wears Red

Bibulous I may well be

But blue in the face, I assure you, I’m not

Tearing me from my endlessly taxing troubles

That sound of the glass filling with sighted faculty

In vino veritas, dripping in its ageless parlance:

‘This bottle is bottomless, as the well of your ink

Staining impassioned page, evoking the rise of undeath’

Joyfully it revives the eternally-entombed mysteries

Indolently permitting knowing to creep past nerve

Making mincemeat of today’s and tomorrow’s torments

Filling the air with its fantastically-auspicious portent

Stealing fear, denouncing the delusions of despair

Burying the wanton of my worry beneath my will

Setting flame to the burnable brought before its bonfire

Leaving the lingering, unburnable ancients left to loiter

Bared before me, Spirit’s beseech bounding from breast

Bridging with the Oneness with whom I commune

Clearing responsibility’s remnants, the maggots of mind

Remaking modes of money and matter into dreamy ideals

Hurling provocations at nay-sayers and betrayers of beauty

Whispering of the wonders revealed in the aimless wander

Rebuking those affecting the holding of holy sacrament

Hearing what must be said, its patience outlasting noise

Won’t you join me here, in this land of half-conscious awakeness?!

Nay, you’re being ground by the grind, for by the bard, it’s but noon!

I opened the bottle because I wasn’t supposed to

Little is so spiritedly-alluring as casting convention aside!

Hah! The wickedly-wily, instigating imp is at it again!