Ketamine dreams,
induced narcoleptic nightmares,
poles of northern impulses,
and southern stupors.
My equator's equilibrium,
and my catatonic control,
each one in the same,
yet far from reach.
A squeeze of a lime,
its fresh sour scent,
atop three fingers of gin,
match the burn of my cuts,
and i feel once again.
Cocktail straws set aside,
stirring fingers dull discomfort after a lick,
"three more limes please, barkeep",
it's now triple the pain i seek,
tolerance & your fickle itch.
Good evening ladies and gentlemen. May I walk you through one of the specials that our dear chef has prepared for your dining experience tonight? We are serving a sous-vide of heart confit, which has been posing motionless for the last 6 hours, simmering uncomfortably with no escape, a side of scalloped mind, impulsively diced to ensure irregular frames and a sauteed cauliflower as your vegetative state of garnish. Would you like to hear our dessert special now or later?
