Sleep is not a luxury.
Well, not today.
Well, not for me.
Invention’s mamma had it right:
“Necessity” describes tonight.
Accordingly, I’ll be bemused
If morning finds my eyelids used
For aught but frames of bloodshot red.
Too bad I can’t sublet the bed.

Neat Feet

I drink my whiskey from a shoe
Or, if I drank, that’s what I’d do.
I mean, I drink, but beer and wine
Both pour at speeds much nearer mine
Than spirits once or twice distilled.
And yet, had I my footpads filled
With fluids I’m obliged to quaff,
The higher proofs might frighten off
The worst that’s lurking in my sole.
Feet, neat. Repeat. That’s how I’d roll.