Pressing round noir midnight at midday
Hops
of bubbling froth hop from
Point
of longing to tastes lingering,
Imports
without much conditioning from
vents,
Air
or otherwise.
What
unreasonable directions from pulpits
Tarnished
white crackled
On
sets above bars of malts.
Sinking
into uncomfortable relaxation.
Ponder
dreary dreams, destroyed only.
Snippets
of grease strained trust
On pages not fitting
to
print
To
pour the warm finish
Over
the tender crisp skin
Remains
glued.