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The Night Sits Around Me
It is curiously hot and the night sits around me as I watch the clouds grow dark.
I blow smoke rings 'round the moon and lasso it to my bidding and I wipe my brow.
The crazy stars prance, playing hide and seek behind the mantel.
There is chaos in this order and order in this chaos.
It is a lazy evening reclining on my stoop.
And the whippoorwill's song seems oddly out of place in this sluggardly night.
The cantankerous old woman across the way stares at me from behind her curtain.
The light from the bare bulb behind her lashes out across her lawn stabbing me in my eyes.
But the night sits around me, making it impossible to move.
I sip from the bottle of bourbon that I stole from my cousin's cabinet last week.
It fires my insides and my pores open to release the steam it produces.
That sassy little girl from down the road sashays past in cambric splendor.
She winks inviting me to play, but the night sits around me and I do not want to move.
My neighbor's front door creaks open and I hear him leer at her ass through the crack.
But she quickly steals into the night's blackness and he jeeringly creeps back into his sepulcher.
Another draft of bourbon saunters down my throat.
And I complacently hiss with satisfaction for my cousin's recompense.
A bead of sweat having meandered down my nose rests uncertainly at its end.
It is annoying and I unthinkingly wipe my arm across my nose to capture the bead.
The bottle neck in my hand tips and I spill bourbon on my shirt.
Peels of laughter disgorge from my maw. My laughter does not echo in the darkness.
My Laughter falls lifelessly at my feet as the night sits around me.
I pull another cigarette from the pack at my side and put it between my lips.
I lift the pack of wooden matches, pull one from the box and strike it against the side.
The crackling of sulphur deafens me and the crescendo of light blinds.
Holding the tiny torch between my thumb and forefinger, I pause for a moment to regain my bearings.
The match inflames the tip of the cigarette and I draw the cancerous air in deeply.
Exhaling a little cloud of pleasure, my body releases whatever tension remains.
The heat of the fire kisses my fingers and I absentmindedly flick the match out into the gloaming.
The yowling dog from across the road races toward me only to stop in the middle of the street and chase its tail.
Its cyclonic frolicking draws the attention of a stray cat who walks up and clouts the dog on his nose.
The cat licks its paw as the dog draws its tail tightly between its hind legs and scampers back to safety.
The bare bulb hanging above me shudders like a convicted criminal hanging from the gallows and goes out.
The air is sultry and motionless and I am blinded by the darkness as the night sits around me.
I love your imagery as it
I love your imagery as it grounds this very metaphysical poem with the details of a very earth, very local, and highly observant perception.
Starward