Night Creature

The moon will not take its fingers
Off your disheveled bed.
My god, it is a blinding interrogation.
The pills won’t curl you
Softly into sleep.
The bourbon will not induce anesthesia
Or render you amnesiac.

I would have sympathy
But it is your own black heart
Causing this attack.

Neither the angel can be conjured back,
Nor your unenlightened self
Shuffling drunk in bars.

Even the dog
Is smart enough to know
No cell of a living creature
Is ever the same
Once the angel has walked through its flesh.

She eats from your hand,
Sleeps at your feet,
She knows you have become
Something
Less.