Liquid Spirits

Opened, the cherry door
behind whose flame-wood lies
your silver box of nights-

Pandora's gifts cut loose
of its most treacherous spirits-

where metal sweats tarnished
scotch and whiskey.

Here the satyr's ire
crashes down, cracks bone,
wounds muscle, marks skin

with vulgar colors, shatters
a strange raw creature that
used to look like me; quietly

in the morning, pieced
carefully back together.

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