Drunk Judgment

A night address The world is wasted on you. Show us one clear time beyond childhood (or the bottle) you spent your whole self—hoarding no blood-bank back-up, some future aim to fuel—or let yourself look foolish in reckless style on barstool, backstreet or dancefloor, without a dim image of your hamming hobbling you the whole while. Voyeur to your own couplings, you never did come with them, did you, even when you did? You said Hell is details, when Hell was just the cave, the concave- mirrored skull you dwelt inside, your left hand polishing while the other shook to clinch a deal— Provide, provide! Sure, in the end, like any soul you were endless and yets—brave, deft with phrases, kind— three cheers for you. Too closed to want what others love you vetoed life— were there other worlds to crave?