You’d think by now I’d know it’s not
The mixing of drink, but the absence
Of water that makes the head ring,
Unsnoozably, mornings like these.
Consequence of Fat Tuesday, or not,
I need help and hope the forgiver
Doesn’t tire of Lord Lord from my lips,
When my body is miles away.
No matter. A moment makes its own shape,
Owns its own needs. Coffee’s a mercy.
Advil, too. What loss there is
Is cause enough to mark a cross
On the forehead each morning,
Each evening to burn the temple down.
