Absinthe

There is nothing like it in nature
No leaf so iridescent in its gleam just

Think of the way light passes through
The glass on the cafe table firing

The air around it with the fierce
Current of the brain corroding back

To its own nature which is
To say this animal hunger rising

Through the flesh & visionary hopes
Of the whole assembled tableau of

Losers derelicts actors saltimbanques
Painters widows thieves who populate

A century lit by this glass finger-lantern
Of glowing rage