03 January 2018
smokey annihilate. But you, we are
darkness familiars, entangled and enrapt.
We are always grieving -- every minute.
When I look along this bar at my commiserates,
I see our soft warm giving up. We are,
at any rate, babies born unequal to the task.
At least these drunks admit that.
Convivial honesty is that midnight fissure. Don't
tell me that's not real joy. These cracked smiles,
legs crooked under tables, creased eye laughter.
Don't tell me that's not now.
We are more than memory of
the crooked split of night away
from all those nows. The clarity of day
is a seeping deceit, a rosy fingered grifter.
I am ready. I no longer need whiskey,
I am ready for a sober wake. Prop me up
amidst you. What do we grieve? The ever
present smokey annihilate of now
Of this I will soon forget. Of the
dribbling down my chin. I am
an honest man unequal to the task
dribbling down my chin.
You and me, unremembered, we are
darkness familiars, legs entangled
arms enrapt, joyful and
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