(no subject)

[tristfully]

'Sloe Gin'

The clear weather of juniper
darkened into winter.
She fed gin to sloes
and sealed the glass container.

When I unscrewed it
I smelled the disturbed
tart stillness of a bush
rising through the pantry.

When I poured it
it had a cutting edge
and flamed
like Betelgeuse.

I drink to you
in smoke-mirled, blue-
black sloes, bitter
and dependable.

Seamus Heaney

Aster sent me a bottle.

Who wants to go into the woods with me tonight to find Lukashenko?

Or maybe to find out how we die.

Comments

[tristfully]

So you’ll come?

[opsia]

seems i already been volunteered.

but yeah. could be doing worse.

[tristfully]

I figured if I caught one, I’d catch you all.

Worse than underage drinking after curfew in arguably haunted woods? Oh my.

[opsia]

we probably shouldn't be letting that get out so easy.

could be doing it in definitely haunted woods.

[tristfully]

The news is well out, I’m afraid.

You’re not scared?

[opsia]

yeah, probably could've tried harder on that one.

ain't nothing to be scared of yet.

[tristfully]

There's always something to be scared of.

[opsia]

you think so?

[tristfully]

Unfortunately, very much so.