[?7h
brown bottle spins in silence on cold lonely linoleum --
you thought a few thousand swallows of pyrite
could become an elixir of gold, but instead
there was only the fountain of poison
flowing into a gaping thirsty maw
over which you had lost control
dreams all die
when you coat them with bitter amber
brown glass prison
    can't break free

   ū copyright alexa 1994 VOR Literature ū