In Vino Veritas
And so these words are violently
wrenched out of their comfort zone:
the air is so thick with rancor
that the rose on the desk withered.
Somewhere away from here
in a place I have yet to be
men in breeches and women in dirndls
waltz to their hearts’ delight, bringing
the season’s worth of freshly-picked
grapes under their bare feet into pulp.
Laughter is everywhere as the people
that have come to witness the revelry
provide the calypso, wildly clapping and
chanting, as though a sacrifice is
undertaking, the dark juice that has been
squeezed out the spilt blood of the one
who had it easy breaking me.
Opening my eyes I find my
right arm reaching for that faraway place–
a sneer crossing my face,
a strong taste of wine on my lips.