Weighty lightness, solid levity,
Primordial soup,
Some ancient rite, draws me
To the foam.
Its celestial colour,
Its effervescent overflowing,
How it teases my buds,
Not like water,
Like honey
As an insect encased
In amber
I am within,
The tears of sunshine
And Olympian folly.
On dry days
I seek the incendiary agent,
Brooding bout,
Pint-sized, el niño
And his brews
Come soaring
After the downpour,
As high-tiding winds,
That **** contented days
And spin spirals round
Cups of complacent
Hours, the whine
Eternal,
Only seems
Like spilling
Blood.
Draw me, the dram.
The dram of what?
Ale's the thing!
Falling,
Overboard,
No drowning man was so ever
Esteemed,
Ever so buoyant.
How the vessel becomes
His captain.
