I have nothing to confess.
That is the moon. Here
is my glass. They both
darken the more I speak.
And I rise. Struck down
by more poems than women.
Sinking into the page
to grab a drink and lift it
to my lips. I have a hymn.
I rise with that hymn
and curse at the stars.
That is how I love. Sending
all my loudest howls
into a vacuum. I invent
other names for despair.
Flower. Canvas. Century.
I own nothing of value
but gratitude. Thank you,
moon. Thank you, drink.
Thank you, darkness, for
nothing. Nothing is the best
place to drink in. Nothing
is the opposite of silence.
Nothing is a lion. And I am
a wolf. Caged in the world.
Embracing its inhabitants.
That god damn moon.

- Old Dog and Scotch, Rafael San Diego