Falling Down the Well of Joy

I've fallen down the well of joy,

the water is black and crystalline

as tourmaline, pungent 

as West Virginia moonshine.

I crouch, drinking and sniffing

damp stones, caressing the spongy moss

until my knees creak with the sound

of saddle harness.

They keep pulling the bucket up

and letting it back down, I hear

their voices echo in this dripping grotto,

"hello, hello, are you still there?"

Yes I'm still here,

and no, I'm not. I flew out of this well

like a bat leaving a cave at sunset,

I visited the sweet sajuaro flowers,

frilly stickpins with yellow yolks,

sucked and sucked on what only lasts

for a day, maybe two.

The wheel of the night sky

streams overhead, all the parts

I could not see below fanned

like a poker hand. I'm betting the farm,

pushing the chips into the middle of the Milky Way

taking a chance, again.