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Kvasir's blood, Odhroerir, Son, and Bodhn. Drip it,
Drain it, exsanguination and fermentation. Drink
It, gulp it, take it in, it's all yours. Sublimity with
No frailty, and purpose to dispose of. Just let go.
Take in the warm night of the marsh there in cuffs.
It was all over with the plastic, spearmint
Four leaf clover swinging violently from your rear view mirror.
Cut the seat belt, jaw open the door, they pulled you out.
Blood again, but not Kvasir's in Odhroerir, this is your
Blood, metallic taste and all. Drink it, take it in from out.
Trout. Trout fishing on TV. Rainbow, brown,
Cut throat and blue gill every once and a while.
The TV, located just to the left of the transom, up
Above for everyone to watch, glowing like plated
Lanthanum on a ticking watch in your holding cell.
Odhroerir, Son, and Bodhn. Words won't do you any
Good now. Just sit among the metal bar thicket.
Listen to the crickets chirping from the green glow
Above the warm water swamp in the deep south, where
No one ever leaves, and the bugs never stop biting you.
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