My blood and wine.

I drank a cup last night and spilled a stain on the floor. I drank a cup last night and threw the cup to some more. I drank another cup and then I soaked in the tartar flavour. I drank another cup and the I let out cheerful blabber. I drank another cup and it made perfect sense. I drank another cup and then  it's vapour was incense. I drank another cup and then I drank in what was left.
My blood and wine are tangled in reverie. My blood is pouring out at the augment of more red. My blood is pouring out my veins and for once not in dread.
I drank in a cup more and the wine was my blood. My sweet fortified blood. My fortified wine.
I'll drink in more and I know there is an acerbic quality to the liquor that it is. My blood was never neutral.

As time goes by.

To keep the bird of memory in a cage,
and the flight of life in the sky.
is to capture time in my own constraints
still flow on swiftly by.
put a wing on hopeless origami birds,
and to live before one dies.
the paper birds come crashing down
burn them, the smoke will fly.

"It is powerful yet compassionate,
within and without
above and below,
exists in darkness and in light
In presence as in absence
In negation as in affirmation"

 I lived by the ideal that it is
and I can live by the ideal that it is.