I miss her sometimes.
Her game of the hole
In my face.
Trying to cram
As much
You-name-it
Down, like
Whoever
Gets more in
Wins. There’s a reason
People get hooked, I think
As if I’m not one
Of them in my rolling chair,
Not rolling, above my very own
Boogie Street, pretty
Sure I could open
The window and devour
All of the fried dough, the grill sizzle,
The voluminous clouds
Exhaled by feral teenagers
Begging for someone to shout,
Shut the fuck up!
A stratosphere of paradise:
The heart of Saturday night.
It’s lonely
Up here, by myself.
I’m tired
Of doing the right thing.
The fantasy of a consequence-free midnight …
But then, our horror film in-progress
Thrashes
The walls of my skull. I want
That consequence-free midnight,
The old days (there never were)
I don’t give a fuck my own
Uncivilized laugh
if I wake you
Or your stupid friend up