Switch off the noises with the drunks.
Pull around the fire until there's burnt hands
And the moon is the fattest and the fullest,
And it's a god with ideas of mirth.
Oh switch off the sun with these painful eyes.
The sight of anything is too much to do.
Turn to the wall to wet your feet
Blinded deaf and happy at least.
Turn off the noises of incessant voices
That tell this and lie about whatever.
The only weapon is a beautiful fresh bottle
With memory collapsing under its tidal waves.
The stars are vibrating signs
Advertising names and faces and places of monsters.
Unplugging the lot because there's not enough dark
In which to hide not even to sleep,
Not even to sleep with these drinkers.
The bright pain of nightmare
And the loss of all reason
Brings no such releases.
Nowhere to climb anymore.