Liquid Culture

To numb the pain
I drown
in 80 proof
and now
I bleed
with drops
of Winter's
poison.
Like blood
I incubate
cheap wine
to make me whole
but find
that I am
separate
from myself.
I am
a
blur
of bitter
aftertastes.
In my solace
I look to the moon.
My tides of acid rain
rise
with its
fullness
and like
vengeful waters,
the pain comes
in
waves
to navigate
my
destiny.
In liquid reality
I
separate.
I blend
with clouds
and
dissipate
like a
noxious gas,
but when
the
poison
fades
I find
that I am
Winter
again,
withered and worn,
and like
a
nation
without a
home
I
have
lost
my
colors.