I write way stranger things sober than I ever did when I was drinking.
The Plight of the Gourmand
The gourmand has a ringlet of vomit
on his pillow. He has black dreams
that last a fortnight and then, for spite,
repeat themselves with bonus footage,
extended episodes, trailers for next season.
One day, he wakes on the back of a horse,
plodding along somewhere, his bones
vibrating and itching for answers, such as:
why is the sky suddenly a down-turned mouth?
Why do the distant hills look like both fire and ice?
And for the love of a dead god, will he ever eat again?