Your grimshot graven grapes
bleeding nectar
fermented ditty
well, I’m not drunk
the mildew dew
dew mold
you do
see some other
orchard
perhaps one left
not these flowering
fruited, ripe
juicy, lush
everbearing fields
rather a stab
to the heart
blooded brute
and a backhand
like a boot
I’m not tied
bound by
or betrothed
so take that vile
like a shot
moonshine hot
and burn!