probably unskilled

 
i try to warn people, when i remember
overcoming the fog of the booze that brought us here,
probably
i do not sleep well
 
it has been twenty one years and it must be a talent, a common talent,
maybe
but i have not learned
to make myself sleep
 
i drink warm wine and it curdles
in my stomach and i curdle in my bed and i
sink through it
maybe into the apartment below mine
maybe into the dirt, i do not know;
my eyes are closed
 
i wake and they ask for more time
i empty my pockets
and have nothing to give them