The Inn of Snake Alcohol
The snakes are buried in alcohol.
Their spirits creep over the mouth of the jug,
They lie in the bottoms of cups.
Creep on, please creep on through white lips--
Listen: Drunk is shouting his vagabond song.
With the top of a hat, with a pair of shoes
With glazed eyes that search the horizon
With anger setting fires in the temple
A whole life stunned by nothingness--
Like a broken stone, like a bending reed
With the startling turns of a poem
With a frenzy of fears that lick like fire
With the laugh in the sleepwalker's crying--
Creep on, spirits of snakes, creep on!
Dazzling venom spurts from the jug.
There's a man who drinks nothing but memories
Whose veins are the paths of snakes.
The little inn buries the great night
The forest recalls the name of Autumn
Alcohol carries the spirits of snakes
And Drunk is making a song from his own venom.