Stone Brewing, Richmond, Virginia, August 2019
A kettle filled with water boils in the background. If all the morning-glories in the world bloomed at the same time, they could not erupt with such contained violence. I believe beer is made by inviting chaos to turn on itself inside a stoic vessel. It just so happens that from time to time the invisible shivering that takes place during transformation also causes some bodies to swell with arrogance.
My god! The unattainable throne captures the curiosity of so many. Why? How long can one savor their moment on bare wood before it hurts too much, before it’s too much to bear?
I sip, and the contents of a chaotic and violent process possess me. So acute is my hearing that conversations from across the room, across the country and the world are as loud and clear as a Nobel-prize-winner’s lyrics.
A couple enjoys the company of one another.
Sweetest of smiles, never
is it a chore to
day-drink and/or be with you.
Friends make post-work plans.
There’s no such time as ‘too late.’
When you get off, come.
Bring your lover. I’ll bring mine.
An undiscerning priest blasphemes.
I built all this. I’m a god.
A voice sings.
It’s all confusion.
