I was digging through old stuff and found this piece. It’s from 1999 at the latest — probably much earlier. Usually I’m not one for metered rhyme, but we all have to dabble in stilted Elizabethan verse at some point in our careers, no? This is what routine intoxication will do to you, kids! (Secretly, I like this one a lot.)
Elysian grove, pink petals bright,
With twisted wood, and dome of light.
An endless orchard sweet as skin,
enchanted, with narcotic wind.
Dark pools that suck from Hist’ry’s drink
Sprout angel webs which fly and think.
And satyrs sigh, ‘mid moss and hush.
by wood nymphs pleasured: perfumed rush.
Night’s greenest depths resound with chords:
a ringing out of birthing worlds.
The life-force throbbing in the void,
the ecstasy of parts rejoined.
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