the last night of the earth

I go through these periods
of poetic inscrutability
these moments of panic
as if I’m never going
to write anything
substantial again
as if
in the middle of night
she had risen
packed a quiet duffel
and left under the headlights
of a yellow cab
but it’s usually
before going off
to the punch clock
thinking it the last night
of the earth
that I’ll be spending
my final moments
with half-wits
degenerates
the perpetually depraved