Day 7: Sonnet

No line of verse is writ by me unless

Th’ elixir of the morning sets my pace.    

Espresso’s riotous rhythms onward press,

And open up the veins of inward space.

By evening, coffee’s hot duress expires;

And wine lends inspiration to my wit,

Emboldens me with strangers, loves, and liars,

Untethers from my mind all counterfeit.

Both drafts together churn my guts with rage.

I fear my crumbling body soon must choose--

Unhappiest decision of cruel age--

Which vital pump to coddle, which abuse …

Let’s toast, with Kaldi’s brew and Bacchus’ art,

this war between my liver and my heart!