ENTERTAINING

The demons that come calling find me in the night;
Where in the daylight they have to muscle and elbow their way in
In the dark they find they can slip through
Past barriers and balustrades and slit trenches
Meant to deter them. They raise me, they rise me,
They cajole me into other rooms, compel me to seek
Noise and light, proof of life, the opiates and anesthetics
Of waking life. But they don't leave yet. There is time
For cordial conversation, inquiries into the state
Of my life and times, accomplishments and failures,
State of mind, and, well,
Lack thereof. They are boisterous company, these black things:
Remembrances of things past, accomplishments and failures,
Things forgotten, things misspoken, things done badly,
Things undone. For insubstantial things, they fill a great deal of space.
For abstracts they make a great deal of noise,
Filling the front room to the ceiling with their cacophonies,
In the dead center of the night.