My pitcher of wine grows light. Page by page my bible gets less interesting. Communion requires Triple Sec added to the pitcher. My hand upright stands ready to grab at elderberry, they may mix better with wine. The water wheel crushes my ambition like kernels of truth.
The book beneath the bible is poetry. Page 133 reads… “And who among us poets has not adulterated his wine?” Nietzsche”
I slam the book shut. I hate that self serving shit!