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Poem

Empty work resists an empty home
Too much to bear without clinking bottles 
Swaying in a plastic bag like seasick genies
Empty life finding harbor in emptiness
Even if it’s something to feel guilty again
It’s like welcoming Legions for guests
Something to keep depression company
Keep them occupied, let them kill the hours
The hours are Prometheus dripping red
Why does my heart regrow after insult?
How do others stand breathing alone? 
So the six of us make a sad affair
Without a succubus on top of you?
Without Beelzebub offering a toke?
Without Bacchus opening the bar? 
And Prometheus bleeding like an hourglass
All nursing my depression with myrrrh
Kings and queens to my baby in the manger
Desperate hopes of depression's crucifixion
But before you go, turn water into Pinot Noir
Then I’ll gladly go home empty-handed
I hope you don’t resurrect, remain down
But, keep the faucet flowing while gone
I’ll pour a glass at depression’s grave
Watch the tumuli turn rust red
Rise up to face another day
You reborn with me like a Christ child
Crying for Pinot Noir and a Camel
How can I refuse your mystery?
Being born again sucks
If not for love returning
I’d be an empty hand
With depression where I am
Holding on to nothing
The six of us mourning
Your resurrection nigh
Forgiveness in the morn

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