I went there without you.
The invitation for Winter
was a blanket of fog,
and my feet were peeking
out from the bottom.
Winter breeds dread
and I coped by spending
restless nights hopping
from bar to bar in
hopes that the right Spirit
would guide me down those
lightless streets and lighted streets,
down the sidewalk on Madison Avenue
trying to make it back to 65th so
I could sleep in my own bed.

In the room the women come and go
talking of D'Angelo.

Black Messiah, not Voodoo;
"Ain't That Easy," not "Playa Playa"
playing through someone's iPhone
out the Bluetooth speakers
on the coffee table next to
the gin and the ashtrayspliff.

The Demon was brought
out of me by the Jack and Coke,
fire from my mouth and eyes
and the headache!
Oh, I begged, on my knees,
my besought hands folded,
asking for the tongue of flame
to be removed from my head!
That my personal Nephilim be
extinguished by the deluge!

And he left me,
as silently as he came,
in a puddle of my *****
on the bathroom floor,
clutching my legs to
my chest.