Drink Paint by Willie Smith

I wanna drink paint.
Gallons of to-die-for lead base.
Put color in the old GI. Experience
room temperature good ice cream consistency.
Taste a spike sledged through the throat,
pin ya to the wall. I plan to drink till
paint pupils orange pith white;
skin gangrene early blackberry green.
I wanna die from ochre, from scarlet,
from vermilion; head in a toilet from Jersey;
zapped on LSD under sputtery bug lights,
while the elevated thunders.
I wanna chug a pint of plum.
Finish off the belly with a yellow lacquer.
Paint the town red as a stop to the blues.
And no more shall the blues reign.
For this paint hath put me down.
Thick bitter tinct made me extinct.
Put me down here – to jitter with you dead.
To jig a cocoon no puzzle ever saw.
Put inspire to bed. Then inside that rattle –
clutched in a piglet trotter – puke pigiron pigment.
Not what meant mentally to blow into my horn.
But what see now meant stuck fast.
I wanna drink paint.

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