Nocturnal Musings

Sometimes on particularly dreary nights

After a lot of whiskey and some stray stimuli

He tries to write, what he says, a poem

On love and even shoddier frivolities

But the whiskey never cascades,

Like the river back home

Into words that would make his muse proud

And as he sleeps to the taste of a shared cigarette

The morning, he knows, will never tell the same story.