Devils and Discourses

I pick up the pencil and drink from six different bottles

a car plays a distant tune that I do not recognize

I am now smoking seven cigarettes a day

I would not have called myself a smoker a week ago

but times have changed and so have I.

Taking a step back

I realize what is wrong and what I hope is right

but

hope is as fragile as the sea glass of yesterday

and I am recklessly wielding a hammer

wrapped in barbed wire

swinging at bent nails

in the dark.

The burden of change looms over prerequisite eons

which doesn't get heavier

or lighter

meanwhile a devil sits on my shoulder

the angel skipped town

with a whisper as soft as a lovers request

the demon speaks;

"you can't hold out for long"

and I rebuttal;

"I don't want to."