shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

R. Bremner

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Kerouac dream #3

An umbilical cord between your mind and mine
purges the rot and the caffeine in me,
makes me again an infant, a suckling, as
the circle of life rears its wanton beauty

I see sense.
I smell nonsense.
I taste lies. They have several flavors.
They taste like rotten mangoes, or
ketchup and mayonnaise, and other tastes alien to me.
I hear thunder. It calls my name. It warns me.
I touch honesty. It invites me, then bites my hand.