the music plays,
plays nervously
with reassuring caution,
as if to say,
“hey,
it’ll be
okay.”

but the sentiment
comes off
as
flimsy.

to add to
the atmosphere,
there’s one light on
in the apartment.
trying so hard to
be illuminating.
it’s 2-something a.m.

coffee is still being poured,
being drank,
as my sight rolls over a sink
full of ***** dishes,
and eventually
finds a busy cell phone
left alone on the counter.

the body moves momentarily,
the words flow with high viscosity,
the mind is traffic-jammed with
thoughts of casualties and
thoughts of beauty.

there is no her tonight.
no fingertips to trace the
lines about the face.

a good woman will reduce
a man to measly rubble
when left in the company
of
isolation.

there’s no meaning.
there’s no love.
there’s no laughter,
no, not tonight.

tonight there is only
that old friend misery,
and brief interrupting
respites of holy
memories.