Comes on, the way you feel, come on, come on

I am not as calm as a bottle of scotch, but a vice in hand and handy supply is a happy peace of mind you only find with a few spare minutes to go out of your way and a few rare dollars to spare.
Instead, I am relearning how to sweat, mercifully alone in my apartment as sky dumps belly on Manhattan in first few humid 24 hour tours of early summer’s foreshadows. I am not as calm as a bottle of scotch, to dip in as though dancing, so Instead it is two Löwenbräu hastily and impulsively bought from the bodega on whose rafts I ride out the tumult I feel and the tumult screaming in white sheets like wrathful wraiths more than restive casting shadows at stupid hours.
I hate to be alone.
And with so much yet to do at young to adolescent late hours too early posing as evening but still fooling me who likes to sleep and forget.
Evening, but not even and really never with mornings and days spent lopsided waylaid.