The whisky master says,
“I suck the tongue of truth
in every glass.”
The wine master says,
“This sweet burning
puts my eye on Heaven.”
The pot smoker
sits on his hands but he’s praying,
grinning at the answers.
Whatever we stone ourselves with
revives in us the kick
we last used in the womb —
fighting toward what’s out there,
though we have never seen it; still, we’re
surely getting there.
Dark Matter 
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