when you defined my problematic tongue
as a vineyard of mistake and false fortitude
I was (in my amused distress at your anger) 
mildly heartened to realize that to be drunk on such things
is the perfect toil for such a bland and poisoned night

to be a source of such diamond intoxication
is to stand on a small hill amid empty fields
around a stingy town and then demand 
that the smug townsfolk provide me with meals
fit to accompany such wine as I may pour

there are worse things in this strained and damaged world
than the hangover of such inebriation as may accompany
the sensation of speaking free and easy truth
as strong as any liquor
you may choose to name

you are an artist with bite
and damned good at that.
your teeth gave you

everything so don’t you
dare sell out.  spit your work, 
yourself, even your teeth,

into a bowl.
give it all away
in the street. you should

refuse to take money
for any of it
when it’s offered.

how dare you believe
you need to eat
to continue?

Cold enough outside
to be the frozen part of Hell —
people forget that there’s a
frozen part full of Satan and
traitors, at least that’s what
Dante Aligheri said and he
is one poet who
actually seemed
to know things.

It’s cold enough outslde
that my anatomy isn’t buying it,
commenting through
the fingers and nose tip
that I ought to get inside
before one wince more
slices through.
In other words:

better to be inside, even if
I’ve nothing better to do than this,
even if that sounds like a betrayal
of the Work.

Though I can think of things
I could be doing that would hurt less
than this, I’ll do this
and stay warm,
braving Hell’s cold rage
for taking its name
in vain.

when in the corner of a dark room
one sees the shadow of a demon
in the form of a blank cardboard cutout
of a tall and threatening human

when one then walks toward the demon
with shallow breaths while clutching a weapon
only to learn that the demon is a childhood cartoon
whose face was turned away so it could not be readily seen

when this happens because one has plunged a knife
into the cardboard cutout to seemingly slay the demon
only to discover its true identity as it collapsed in shreds
and as everyone who saw you stalk it breaks into laughter

when this happens
when your mistake is revealed
when what you’ve killed
renders you a buffoon before others

remember
that it does not mean
that the demon
does not in fact exist

somewhere
where you
cannot
see it