deceptive in its transparency,
A mountain stream I could take a quick tube down
And find myself whipped over, drowning, laughing.
Give me a whiskey in a dark booth, two shots
in the hand across the table insisting I have more.
I want more.
Make the booth leather, let the leather be torn,
hardened, able to scratch through the skin of my thigh.
Didn’t my daddy love a juke? Keep the jukebox filled.
You know the song I want to hear.
Sing it for me.
If I wanted anything less, I’d have asked for ice.
I want the burn of it. The risk down the throat,
unmitigated. It’s not good for me, but
I’m no good.
The next mountain over there’s a still. A place
My momma dreams of. How do you think I got here?
It’s hard to get to, the still.
It’s not illegal, but it’s secret.
Things taste better that way.
When I want water I’ll let you know.
Until then bring me what I ask for.
I’ll chase it down with my own
Damned breath.