delerium city cab ride

One day you take the weather of
its change. You go, I can't stand
this any more. Your pal, Dionysius
the Aeropagite, won't lend
any money to
your archaic cause.

The meter is running.
There is rain. You don't recognize the
streets or the unfamiliar
fare. You

go, close the door pal.
Drop me off in front of the
radiant hemlock grove.
Like pronto.