Beggar's Wine

A proud black night bares its chest arrogantly above the cowering aromas of cotton-wool and wool. An enormous sinewy arm, eternally in fist, thumps against cosmic chest cavity. Services will be held at midnight for the poor old bright lines of grim and servile oat. The bright red apple dances with the grainy bourbon and it's not to be said who leads whom. A crack, a crash, a crevice in the ebony blue. An iridescent shimmer of black and eggplant. The creative balance of a little drop of pain. The forking of filmy lightning bolts, of juniper, of last kiss.
Behind and beneath it all, around and inside it all, within and without it all, a heavy bass drum thumps on and on. The black raspberries throb meat, threat, viscera. A memory wafts up on the first scent of a place and time you can't have been, couldn't have forgotten, must be remembering. Drive yourself crazy looking for that black-flagged memory again. One of those rare moments of nightmare, in whose heavy fire, heroes are forged, maybe. The sky cracks open and all is rushing chaos. A wild and naked old man raises his gnarled lulav and dares the open to do that which it dares do.
Come rain! Come wind! Come crumbling earth! Come crunch! Come flint! Come clover! Come peach tree! Come stone! Come hail! Come pomegranate! Come rhubarb! Come tobacco! Come caramelized onion! Come bacon-fat! Come acorn! Come you dogs of hell that bark and nip at ankle! Come endive! Come blue cheese! Come beet! Come candied walnut! Come pear! Come incense! Come chaos! Come entropy! Come electric light orchestra of thorny aerial gardens! Come bell pepper! Come stew! Come foie gras! Come snail! Come orange rind! Come cherry! Come sherry! Come fear! Come fright! Come fathom!
The smudge of purple candy curls up on itself in useless defense against the unending torrents of particulated radishfall. The potent earth grows muddy and boggy and rivulets of dark cedar grow up around. They flow away slowly, leaving a dawn of paper products, of chicken wire, of pearl. A fine wine to drink never. In fact, don't even uncork it. Don't open it at all. Quick. Hide it here. How did you even get it? Such a bottle as this. Such a bottle as this does not just show up in the corner wineya. This is a bottle to be cellared immediately. Don't have a cellar? Build one. Can't build? Have one built. Can't afford it? Get a better job. Can't find a better job? Beg, borrow, or steal. It must have a place to rest. It will rest, one way or the other. Give the wine a home, a place to grow, a forgotten place, an old place, a place for its subtle finish of faintest winter mist suspended in airy, off-dry soil.

Varietal: Opiated poppy
Food Pairing: Never serve! For god's sake, don't open it!
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