Heading Down
Empty an overflowing canopic jar
of such thick sour juice by tipping
it out [sleep will never unbind me
whilst waking with a dream’s ills]
& I’ll swivel in my sweat-mopping
duvet – I’ll avoid softer nudges of
raked-up dwams by drinking less
& praying more [whomever hears
will be welcomed here] – A dusk’s
reoccurrence is a dour prelude to
each of my concerns – we re-align
half-emptied vitrics over half-full
trays – hit squads of treacled shot
glasses parade badly by morning
& daylight – mashed blue agave &
fingerprints tell all there is unsaid
because my mouth cannot speak
with such a confection of alcohol
left in my body – I sweat scents of
an impetuous night – quick burial
in a pillow – my breath is reckless