#12 - Ask me about my concussions

Toggle the default and defrag the drive,
The midnight deletions of opiate dreams.
Decant the wine, the draught of vintage;
Smear its purple dregs on the plaster walls

And wait for the tender patterns to dry.
Dim the chapel, dismiss the choir,
And hum the three note descending melody
Of an F-sharp hymn. Wait around

For the Continental Divide to become
Another Appalachia, tumbled smooth
And warm. In the valleys, cue the wind
From the west and waste the harvest,

For tender is the blight, and haply the
Homunculus is on his cerebral throne.