It never leaves
until at the very moment
you are in need
of one more dose
right up your nose
courage can be a real bitch
in sticky outings
out in the middle of no fucking where
in the middle of the night
a flat tyre shaped baggage
pulling you in its grasp
you remember all
your life lessons
cataloguing them
sorting them by a hexadecimal code
but nothing works
your mama never taught you
what to do
when you feel the brine
down your spine
and when your throat
starts to itch for a measly droplet
that won’t arrive
you are wondering whether
to call your mama or your girl
moments like these
bring clarity in a man’s life
when he’s about to be mugged
at knife point or straddled
by three different breeds
of violent men
in a darkly lane
I know you wish to
crumble and go back up
like a foetal shaped ball
but you’ll be better
for it
or maybe you won’t
who knows what
men do to other men
on nights like these
when the moon
is full and the fright
just beginning to grow
my faith, my grief
Edgar Poe’s crow
all in the mix
of a thrilling risk
to watch
men tear each other apart
and dance
naked and triumphant
on the heels of a crazy
new dawn.
A heathen poet 