Already a Demon

It’s the demon drink

But he was already a demon I think

Five years dry now, so he says

Flashing his postcards from the desert

But it always looks too green

Too lush for a dust bowl subsistence

A story strip imprinted on his skin 

Glass-eyed lies smashed

The pieces wrapped in many layers 

Of plastic bags among the garage stuff

So his wife cannot cut herself

Upon his broken promises 

He was just the sort  

For demon drink to welcome to his cave

A mine of diamonds and oblivion

The opening in which he glowed

Upon a circle of adjuvant consorts

Who relished in the dazzle of his shame

Those spirits as abundant as the shadows

From which he tries to hide

Obliterate the past in a tram ride

The urge to run away upon the spot

An endless ride of new beginnings

‘He’s a different person when he’s had a drink,’

A phantom with the password to his inner self