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Bleeding sweetly, sometimes sour
The
Absinthe man
In absent lands
Stumbles into my heart
In that innocuous,
Old-man flirty way

He starts to feel,
Just as he gets comfortable,
That dreams slip
The dreams slip away
Into a ghost ocean on desert shores

The absinthe man
Lost to decay
Seeds stuck between teeth
Shoes all full of sand
On sunny days, he slips away
To places less severe

Lemoning tree blossoms here
	Decorate his heart,
		Relaxed and heedless
			Softly petting doves
		Beneath the sticky brambles
The absinthe man dreams a little dream

The moon alights between two peaks
A strong smell from a bloated corpse
Late at night
Or afternoon
Exasperating butterflies

In hyper-real California there floats a sun
Aglow with trusts and funds
But seasoned with bad thoughts
The absinthe man collects his cans
In bright grey cities
While cardboard boxes become real estate
The insides all decorated with degrees
Velvet hearts covering sores

Merry men comment on the progress
While bees go gently buzzing by

A lamp post,
A bright blinding sunspot
Circle saws, buzz saws, hammers
Doubling his vision
A crescendo of consciousness

He wishes on a star, alone in the dark
For it to fall and strike the earth
Leaving us all a mark
The wind rushing past it
And the calming noise that it makes

Still,
The absinthe man does all he can
To make it through the grey