Fridge Poetry 47 - Vulgar gods

I, of the thousand dreams,

a bad-hearted pariah,

but a man with a naked soul.

I, the boor,

a drunk, peasant genius,

a lonely ward of heaven.

I discover tomorrow through drinking doubles of gall.

All my life is between light and dark,

I keep forgetting my wish for naught.

Herculean whispers make me curl, and kneel, and drink.

Vulgar gods come into my world,

into my life.

I spurn myself.

Let a liar understand,

let sweet language multiply as hours ebb.

All my life I’ve been in the gold mine,

I’m afraid but I’ve woke up,

and I endure.