My brain is spongy graymatter,
it's thick and it's saturated,
but it's leaking slowly, deflating 
just like everything else here.
I watch the news; I soak it up.
I've seen the bombs and the cocaine, 
waterlogged with infinity,
both very dense, both very leaking.  
I've sensed the damage implied.
Their weight is settling down on me,
my brain absorbs them through and through.

Here, now, Gallo whitewine unfolding 
smells like clear tingling shivers
while its glassy green bottle holds
my hand firmly, anchoring me
to the flat of the floor - 
it will never let go, I'll be anchored 
forever, the world leaking small
and in spurts all around, waiting
for us to deflate or blow out.