The Alcoholic Of Sylivania Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

There is a place
called Sylivania,
named after silybum,
the thistle of the milk.
It's where the laws
of Physics
and of Chemistry
as well as most
of what we humans
have come to
see as truth,
have been suspended
for ever
and a day.

A man can drink
in Sylivania,
he takes a bottle,
size one gallon,
Sylivanian measure,
he looks inside
-an introduction-
and then inhales
the fragrance
of the devil's brew.

Upon approval
he dives, head first
into the delectable
and promising
deep well of pleasure.

And as he floats
without an effort
he drinks his fill
again and then
again, only
to feel the need
to breathe
now and perhaps
much later.

And so he floats
up to the top
at intervals,
dictated by
the body's need
for oxygen.
And then he sinks
to find the other,
it gives a life
not so unlike
and also asks
of him to make
his choice.

And when
the pleasure
and the promise
of the need
come into focus
in the eyes of
blurriness
he may decide
to stay.
Forgo the need to
float past
the horizon.
And stay
forever
at the bottom
of his well.