Something Weird Has Happened

I just got back from the shack out in the Woods ‘cause I thought it could be cool to rule the local wild for a while,
maybe bring a smile to my fairly funky face,
but it went sour
my aurum power proved dour after too few hours.

If only digestion didn’t have a bias
against the trials of King Midas,
gold
causes me severe gastritis,
in agony, alone in the silence,
I had to make an alliance
with the mire I might become buried in,
and only the syrups of sin,
that is, whiskey and gin,
had the rights of alchemy to enter me.

Was so wasted on rye that I learned to fly
from a raccoon that I raced to the Moon,
she won, even went to the Sun,
“Don’t burn up, hon!”