I have begun to
Slip into that night
Good dark dying light
I call upon euphemisms

To disguise the senses
Dismiss the morning ache
I carry them to
Breakfast and to court

Racketball where shadows judge
The game not wooing
Of the ladies when
Shrinkage defines the day

Prolonged Summer heat an
Excuse for sleepless hours
Fears of fragile bladders
Victims of lazy prostates

A whiskey soaked poet
Pleaded for rage rage
Watching love memory blood
Against fading falling twilight

I call up visions
Snow on glacial streets
Winds curling under my
Trousers climbing my spine

Thrills chills challenges mutate
To dread sloth shrugs
Of shoulders to tackle
Sexy stimulants glorious ordeals

The known dead outnumber
The living that newspaper
Page beckons with morning tea
Habitual coffee long faded

With greasy dishes batting
Balls eye feasts before
cataracts filtered light sapped
fury lowered beams – Night

This poem by IPS fellow Saul Landau originally appeard in Counterpunch.