Wednesday, September 14, 2022


I often stay up late,
and I always 
keep a light on—like some 

pushover dad 
for his prodigal son—

waiting in distress 
for the fleeting return 

of my wanton, 

And the second I catch it 
staggering back:
I'm out there 

over-zealously slitting 
the fat throats 
of calves 

and chainsawing possessions 
and bank accounts in half. 

But no matter how 
gently I bleat 
my appeasements, 

or tickle 
its feet, 

or sprinkle gold leaf 
on every offered appetizer, 

the last thing I see 
at the end 
of the night

is the apathetic light 
from the small, 
glowing cherry 

of the Cuban cigar 
it was happy 
to lift from me 

fading, like the plot 
of a dream, as it