down again to the surgeon for seeds

Saint laudanum the flask and the fiddle

Tucks poppy under her arm

Into her pockets

Opens her mouth and swallows down poppies

Saint laudanum

Keeps the seeds on seven shelves

And a drain beside, a crystal of gin

Which grows empty

The mind is so slippery sick and good
For drinking down to the depth of the vine

Don’t make me remember remind me

The flower, and of blood

Saint laudanum keeps

The seeds on seven shelves

And steps the cobblestones one by one down

To the surgeons desk

Dark hair fair skin

And the boy there hands her the flask she wants without formally asking

She’s cleared the shelves on Sunday and was gone by

The following night

The gin remains

It’s crystal still

Spits out the light