My head an oaken cask

Smokey, scotch-stained mind

Permeating in darkness aged

The golden nectar of perception

Blended grains of process

Fermenting in the quiet dark

Until the time is right to be released

Time to test the dormant spirits

Enticed now by liquid reason

Drunk upon aged perception

Mental acuity ambles aimlessly

Unfiltered words tumble free

Mixing with illusions in the vapor

Tomorrow will eventually materialize

And hazy unsure thoughts will linger