When it rains, it pours;
A downpour less frequently wet, sure
Dancing a shambling, ill-dressed manticore
Who has barely the strength to shake anymore
Find the only chagrin of the forecast is yours
But you bring some fine wine, a handle of Dewar’s
Your mind ascending from improbable sewers
Searing tomatoes, aged beef on skewers
Burned-off or absorbed during barhopping tours
With whom you lounged on Mediterranean shores
In your history head: Mongols, Turkmen, and Moors
It hits you again ‘til another drink floors you
Sleep on a sofa where bad weather ignores you
And somewhere inside a girl asks, “From who
Comes a voice (yours) at night ambling the halls?”
The friendliest ghost, not haunting at all
Who’ll likely come by if you give him the call
But leave in the morning before sunlight is tall
Out of fear of breaking some protocol

Despite this, you’ve certainly seen so
They keep you around as part of this scene, so
This is your life, just how it should be, so
Thank you my dears, my beloved Piso

Frightfully cool, as a matter of fact,
as in a midsummer's apple pie a la mode
come down cold chills.
Remind me of when I had thought
I was an alcoholic when I
was living at home goin' to the U of I
and would have just chugged 3 beers and
thrown up time after time it seemed
barhopping on campus
and would get the shudders on
our front porch afterward
thinking about it,
or the brat I had tasted at
the local campus brat house
wondering what wonder was,
why we were blessed with a
Stevie Wonder himself at the time
and if that had anything to
do with Wonderbread?

His blood,
as thin as he,
runs through me.

I am finally running out
of his
diluted memories.

Barhopping at ten
years old;
looking for him
on visitation Saturdays.

I knew what vampires
looked like…

…when you open
the doors
and the light
from a sunny day
shines in
and they scatter
because they think
I might
be looking for them…