Bog Witch Brew

Before there was meaning
To any good celebrating
We shared sips of coffee
Grounds wet with rose water

Tamped, strained, and shot
Us into a daze of days
That lasted a whole week
Even though we weren’t weak

It was the brew that was
What weeks were made of
What kicked off the morning
And shut down the nights

Like a baton to the shin
It stopped us from flight
And subdued us from fighting
That day’s altering state

Then day was no longer
And it was tomorrow
As the week went on
Like it was so strong

When we bought those potions
Some spillage in the street
Made travelling by hills
Weary at even the notion

How atrocious the skull was
In foam that appeared
At the surface of liquid
Before we drank its veneer

Consuming a concoction
Of bog witch inception
Now we have
The breath of November

Within us

The red rose water
Bitter black coffee
And fragile skulls
Mixed and consumed

Took us in tune
Two months to the future
And moths disturbed
Fluttered with the lights

Of our arrival

Potion’s aftertaste so
Sweet, so savory,
Sanguine if sanguine
Had a taste perceived

Crow’s blood and dark souls
Culled to the mixture
Drank by the cup full
Of kaymak and skulls

Bones break and sinews snap
To the force of futures
As the potion works its
Magic on us consumers

Weeks become weak
Time moves swift
And amber lakes leak
Into rivers

Those rivers unto rivers
That flow into our veins
To make us strong
And to have time detained

Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

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