the drift
to
otherwise unconscious
be no easy
feat,
or it was not, last night,
at least-

four chambers
(and valves, respectively respectfully)
a-pounding,
whilst singing
screaming
and seeing out for faces
with
the particular quest
for
one
that
is/was not
there-

no crystals
no sage,
just sweat, dripped,
and rage-
oh, that piss stained fragrance,
which the VIP kids
know never of the
sweetness,
the bleakness brought
to
light,
if only to be on the
alter,
made for dying,
lamb and/or virginless
sacrifice still demanded-

and so,
to offer,
something under these bulbs
(tasked to show
the tone
of all the amatuers)
I got naught,
just
the sometimes sad soul
of
this still determined
man

and some hope
to be
enough