How does one gain entrance to that
Place where all is right, where, despite
Earthly perturbations, some sense of
Tranquility prevails, where all the world's
Ills, so manifest and comprehensive,
Shrink to motes minute enough for
One well-situated finger to eject them
From one's cosmos? Drink, strong
Drink, I'm sure, can do it. You may
Praise sobriety, may make (too)
Much of dogged dedication to clear-
Headed thought, but I, who've wriggled
Through turnstiles, limboed beneath
Iron gates, look back at you. You
Cannot enter, not until you drink.