The Auburn Insomniac

The auburn insomniac,
in his shell,
in his shoes,
with a hairy belly,
and not much to do.
Old monk on his bed,
and a restless head,
he sets out towards his window's gloom.
The night falls flat,
on boot and hat,
on floor and street,
the bars open or discreet.
And he loses some clear air,
with his cigarette about,
and no one to shout,
at his face splashed with serenity.
He lost his troubles,
and all his gambles,
to a constant state of temerity.
Such a man of the night,
such a spirit with fight,
But alas he sold off his dignity.