my potion vending machine
cherry electric philters
and cool blue elixirs
the color of good health

god’s quarter reaches down
filing us from the earth
like the foil of a
losing lottery ticket

operator operator
i’m invoking but
the checker man only tells me
things I already know

silver life and golden death
libations of your ablution spilt
everything good about you
taken from somewhere else

she’s falling through
crystal skies and frozen mists
just as she hits the campfire
i wake up


-M.C.