After detox, “fun,” changed. It wasn’t booze
that I missed. It was fucking anything
that moved. Self-preservation? That excuse
got lost on the dance floor. Now, sobering
up has left me adrift. Once I wanted
to save the perturbed; pitied those who’ve knew
this just as a curse. What ran in my blood
was lust for it all … if it were taboo …
if I were drunk. Now, now, now I can’t be
bothered. That’s bleak. Once I’d have told you, “dare
me; – we’ll put the ass back in massacre.”
I still have, “ill incubo,” inked on me.
Sober now I’m no one’s Bi-bone Nightmare,
Cosmic Casanova, Randy Hotspur.
In proper Italian grammar, “il incubo,” translates as, “the nightmare.” An incubus is a demon believed to have sexual intercourse with men and women while they sleep. Three days from now (5/18/2020) will mark 27-months sober for me.