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