Dark Nights

sleepless nights in the dark, crepuscular moments
of clarity; rough mornings, hungover with a
fifth of bourbon in
the bloodstream, head pounding, stomach whirling, struggling
to act human, to hide the pain and desolation. the nights
always come, tonight’s the night I’m going to bed early, the
empty promise of every dusk; then, a glass is
poured, then a second, a third, a twelfth and the
sun is coming up and nothing
remains but to pass out for
a couple of hours before being roused out
of bed, or off the floor or the bathtub, by
the nasty alarm clock and the demanding responsibilities of
the non-recluse lifestyle I never chose.