Wednesday, January 15, 2014

A Matter of Taste

Cider's too sweet
I am sweet enough
With my tooth rotting grins
With my lackadaisical sins
I will deliver more sweetness with my
Rust bent razor blade an' pipe
Than all the raised thighs in the dance hall
Sweet as those may be

Whisky's too  golden
I am golden skinned too much
With my jaundiced shins
With my yellow stained sins
I will shed off more gold with
My rough hewn song
Than all the trumpets in ancient Rome
Sweet sounding as they were said to be

Lager is too sharp
My knives are sharp enough
With my shimmering scars
With my searing desires
I'll cut your debate in twain
I'll show you more sharp play
Than all the cheats in Rosedale
As deft a touch they claim to be

Vodka's too transparent
I am more opaque
With my lungs filled black with tar
Malcontent enough by far
A toast to the death of the Tsar
I'll down more carnage than
All the Cossacks could swill
Hard wroth riders though they be

I should settle then for water
But rain belongs in the gutter
And it brings too much discourse
Gives me lack of recourse
Fills my head with ill healing
Losses of income and teeth and meaning
Sends everything running
Running down the drain

Which brings me to heady wine
Red dark or clean white
Made from grapes divine
Stain my lips bloody
Make me inviolate
Make me your friend and brother
Or deepest darkest lover
Oh wine my heart belongs to thee

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