Reform

Turn away from bleeding nights
of hedonism, for nothing good

is heavenward, nothing virtuous
earthbound in the hours when

locals have vanished from taverns.
Nothing fills the soul more

than a bottomless glass of brew.
Nothing fills the soul anymore.

Cigarette fog creeps through
frigid city nights– how to swell

your lungs with want. Would-
be ghosts of unborn whispers,

these streets are teeming– how
ever empty they may seem.

 

(originally published in Erothanatos, Spring 2020)

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