Inducing a Migraine

there she is behind the marked oak bar, that Irish angel with the black hair falling like midnight rain, serving up the warmest smile you ever saw, pulling a perfect pint, slow and creamy, her eyes shining like Dionysus himself in drag, pouring out the madness.

red wine flowing free now, warm in the throat, thick as blood, glass after glass, oh Christ yes, and in my skull the shapes start to bloom, colour folding over itself, toxins racing the holy gasoline, vodka, dirty slammers, through the old bloodstream, bam, bam, the vividness of childhood blowing open — buses on the Bellavista road in Turffontein, my grandmother’s apron, the Limpopo rolling black under the moon — Genesis on fire, space and time coming apart, normality gone, easy breathing now, floating in the sweet red haze.

and then it slams in hard, my old friend, the aura migraine, sweet Jesus, the lights zig-zagging like jazz trumpets across the ceiling, metal taste flooding the tongue, copper pennies and lightning — how it surges through the veins like a thousand marching feet pounding the tight skin of a dry bass drum in some club at 3 a.m.

into the eyes it crawls, teeth aching electric, cheeks numb and buzzing, then on it pitches, relentless, no mercy, each throb around the temples a hammer blow, not even a lull to catch a moment and think about the madness of the session, this recipe I cooked up on purpose — booze and no food and staring at the bare bulb — for pain and inspiration both, downhill from here, straight down into the pit.

and then the last tranche hits, sweat pouring, stinging the eyes like the salt tears of the saints, head hung low over the bar rail to slow the spinning world, the hard endless beat, no spit left in the mouth, tongue like leather, the immaculate descent into the black nothing.

I’ll remember nothing in the morning, nothing but the ghost throb and the taste of wine turned to rust, and I’ll be back on the stool by noon, chasing the same god again.

bare bulb, then the black,
wine gone to rust on the tongue—
back by noon for more