an excerpt from Hibernation and Other Poems by Bear Bards
by Stephen Mead
Nog of nogs, the creamy yolks
In a globule
With straws, the pinprick holes
In shells, the insides, an elixir
For mural mediums, the suspensions,
The great oracles of paint…
Such is the ritual of what you do
On my flesh.
Here we drink, breathe fire tinctures,
The ageless grog of the primitive,
Viking-furred, glistening holiday lit.
Two toasts we are proposed to each other,
Sipping time, all time love makes, like us
Open & nude.