Realist Type, or How We Might be Drunk on Several Bottles of Poems

by Matthew D. Rowe

Reason is truth,

sip of wine.

 

Truth is manipulative,

chug from bottle.

 

Truth is sincere,

finish glass.

 

Truth does not exist,

only compassion.

 

Break empty bottle on table.

 

Compassion is merely warmth,

open another bottle.

 

Warm is body and soul

from this bottle and poems.

 

Pour another glass.

 

Body from bottle,

soul from poems.

 

Savor taste.

 

Bottle makes body,

poems is soul.

 

Stare blankly at ceiling.

 

Bottle takes over soul,

leaves mind to wander.

 

Wandering mind encounters mysterious bottle,

consumes uplifting substance,

meets soul,

enters bottle,

becomes poem.

 

Poem becomes soul,

interpreted by body,

controlled by mind.

 

Enjoyed by some.

 

Mind loses control,

convinces body to let go soul.

 

Poem disintegrates,

only to eventually become soul,

spirit,

mind full of bottle thoughts again.

 

Mind lost in a bottle of poems,

influenced by the power of soul.

 

Think about pouring another glass.

 

Soul breaks free poems entrapped in bottle,

mind finds winding road out.

 

Poems of ages ensue.

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