The living drink is bubbling
Filled with tiny animals, I drink it
I eat and swallow those things that intoxicate, and I stare at the bleached wall
Sun baked flaked and bleeding, the dead steak of time is salty and rare
And filled with a nourishment of soul...or at least some level of spirit
Maybe domesticated beyond hope I'll pass along its form as wild and free
Free to die in the fresh air with visions of sun light and sky or evening stars
A full moon will shine somewhere in the Universe
Illuminate the eye...the wild eye of that which cannot be eaten
Sinewy, tough and everlasting of something nameless
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