I want to dance with the great light
Of my being; shards of iridescent filaments
Spluttering and shooting like Aztec darts
From the blower’s breath.
Yet I get these threads of alcohol plying
Their trade in my veins and evening ways.
Out damn poison canals of sherry-wine blood.
Disperse – the warrior needs you no more.
On towards the great tightrope; where
Life dangles like a honey stem
Over the abyss, and wind trickles.