the bit about life is wrong

I should build a still

Like the one in Hawkeye’s swamp

My daily round of death

And life. Hard to forget the

Death easy to

Undervalue the life. Life’s

Only a novelty, like a freeze frame

Snapshot, drop of milk turning

Into a tiara

A gimmick. Gim-crack. Gew-gaw.

I should build a still

Distill oblivion for my convenience

But just one drink goes to my head

Coursing sensations of empty

Bonhomie, flint-spark love and

Joy, then ten minutes later morose and heavy-

-headed, peering into darkness in lit

Rooms until I drink another and another

And only flashes of oblivion

Like glimpses of darkness at noon

And never the night sky at last

I should build a still

Safe place somewhere high in a tree

Or deep underneath a city

I should write my will

But I have nothing to leave

And anyway I leave it all to you

I should build a still

Living beast, a magnificent monster, be

A postmodern Prometheus,

Steal the gods’ secret

Recipe, brew up a new race

Giants. Immortal. Benign.

I should.

I really should.