one night in a local hotel

all my friends
some in the pond
and some i don't know
what they're up to
i certainly couldn't guess
but i digress
far from the social scene
where i sit down for an evening meal
and my iphone rings
but i am not at home
with no extra time to spare
i've almost completely cut my hair
in search of further guidance
i won't answer letters on principle
my hands are nervous but they're full
pouring beer and cooking with gas
i won't drink red wine by the case
toasting the massacre of the human race
or i'll suffer horribly
reading a recent catastrophic letter
questioning whether i'll take a sad song and make it better
during a final summer family trip
to the shores of southern New Jersey
which even now seem far away
i'm often obliged to be on the east coast
where i'll spend at least one night in a local hotel
hoping in the morning i'll feel well
after wondering throughout the night about the voices of the dead
and all those snarling, biting words they said
about a lifetime of overindulgence
in very rich food
i'm sitting beautifully by my bed kneeling
with a lover asking me how i'm feeling
knowing within days i'll be on the brink of death
sucking air as though each inhale could be my last breath.