Distillery

Distillery 

A Wild Flag wannabe, I lurk in my own distillery

A waiting room of dark walls lit, a holding cell to mark my bit

Of talent, of waste, of humor, of grace

Of tiny tokens bent to elicit good taste

I peek out often to watch myself sit

This leaning being, this walking manuscript

I judge her well and I act on her brows
I sign up here and I investigate her troughs

So I know when she's happy 
and where to take her course
I know what she wants 
and I deliver it with force. 

I ask

Where have I been and what did it mean

What is that noise?

Do I hear myself scream?