These harsh evenings have us all turned to jacks
Tonight, we are not but walking puffs...
Hot with split tongues, hard feelings, and morbid musings
Littered on the curb along side blazing eyes and coffee stains
The stars are fading and morning glow consumes them
In gulps

Early morning hours are rushed with nicotine
And infused with rich fermentation
Which churns deep in our guts
Spilling and twisting them for our eyes to see
We are all there, or have been...
Rotting in the space where geometry leaves us without proofs

Roaches we hit
But what a drag it is
To sit street-side with friends
Whose hearts and minds are spinning on a compass
With no magnetic pull
Whatsoever

everything
should be free

but i have plants
growing
in an old bird cage

the irony and guilt
doesn't make it okay

she watches the boy
with green eyes
nursing his drink
sadness
meeting peace
when he looks up

a cigarette smoldering
between his *******
and the one he uses
when he wants to say
he's okay

god
he slurs

and you're not sure
and he's not sure
if he's talking to his reflection
in the mirror
behind you
or if he's
trying to reach an empty
grey sky

pour him
some more
burning gold
steady his hand
when he raises
the glass
with the imprint
of his silent lips
and smile
without
expecting him to give you one

god
he says again
i'm ******

and you deduce
that he must
be talking to the sky
beyond this ceiling
weighed down
with mood lighting
capturing the shadows
of lovers
becoming friends
and friends becoming lovers

aren't we all?

he smiles
finally
sardonically
wisely
he's given in
to the ignorance
he supposes
you have

let's go home.

the
emptiness
in his weighted touch
at the small of your back
shatters
like the glass
that falls
from his hand

Why do I fear the unknown,
when I too am the unknown to the unknown??