Moonshine And Spirit Chasers

MOONSHINEA

Haiku Shots

Amber sunrise, smooth
as a hot toddy down the
wide, welcoming throat.

Ice crystals clinking
like piano keys played in
a bourbon’s cadence.

The wind slurred wetly
like the town drunk shouting for
one more whiskey shot.

This camaraderie,
warm in both belly and heart
like a smooth bourbon.

An alchemy of
corn, rye, malt, and the seasons—
Kentucky distilled.

Moonshine aged into
bourbon, a clear sky aging
into flaring dusk.

Biblical bad times
and proverbial good times—
whiskey always flows.

Joyful frogs hopping
from one bar to another
in a wet county.

Crossing over the
amphibious county line,
a tongue dry then wet.

Whiskey in her Coke,
Louisville lights like umber
mixing into night.

(Currently writing a collection of poems centered on Bourbon and Bardstown and ghosts and such.  The image above is the working cover for the collection.  Seemed like something they might be willing to sell in the local gift stores.  Guess I’ll see soon enough.)

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