Red Grapes

In order to see the world’s evils clearly

They redden their eyes on the branch

Until they believe the warm wind’s praise

In order to become waves in our blood

They offer their lives to the wine cellar

In my glass, the blood of their youth

Tries to send waves through my heart

It’s a jockey riding my bloodstream

Loosening age’s reins—

I used dirty words I don’t normally use

Nearly scaring awake my dead relatives

I fell fast asleep with my arms around love

And, waking, couldn’t find my lover

I fit right in at a banquet in the city

And finally realize, love is wine’s tax

High taxes make wine noble

A crate of red wine

Is a crate of Van Goghs—do you believe that?

A crate of red grapes

Is a crate of nipples—do you believe that?