Moonshine

Moonshine

by Chris Biles

It takes moonshine to turn
a mustache into mountains.
No matter the shrill songs
of the crazy, cockeyed hobo
or the music you hear playing
in your head all day long, filling
your senses with the belabored
beats of the bourgeois, no
matter that grinding humdrum
ho-hum, tiresome and tedious
routine. Moonshine can turn
a mustache into mountains.

No matter the children you see
on the streets doing whatever
they can to survive, boys
learning to fight, learning
the necessity of crack, of snowy
blow before the blows that leave
only a bloody void, girls selling
their fish-netted, sequined-
selves beneath the lamp posts
No matter that underground
world you see through the eyes
of those who should be focusing
on basic math and reading rather
than the techniques of survival.
Moonshine can always turn
a mustache into mountains.

No matter the acrid taste
that tumefies your tongue
when a man stands before
a woman, forces her down
on bruised knees to suck
the semen from his rigid cock
No matter that jaundiced tang
filling your mouth, while hers
is occupied by the abominable.
It takes moonshine to turn
a mustache into mountains.

No matter the grounded glass
that grinds through the capable
calluses of your hands after
a punch to the stomach amplifies
the power of gravity because
apparently this mugger is God
No matter the beads of blood
you feel one by one drip down
past your wrists as you hold
helpless hands to the sky to show
your submission, your surrender,
your whole-hearted reverence.
Moonshine can always turn
a mustache into mountains.

No matter what you may wear
atop your pursed upper lip:
an established brown bristle
faithfully trimmed for years,
a frowning scar that only turns
heinous when you smile,
or a smear of dirt and blood
passed from frayed fingers to face
when religion made you weep.
It takes moonshine to turn
a mustache into mountains,
to smell only sweet, pure air
in whatever it is that lies in wait
below.

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