I forgot my life
left it in some bargain bin,
a flitter of glitter
little old ladies ignore
in their endless opportunity quest.
I note each breath you take
watching the mist seep from your mask,
somewhere the falcon soars
but not with me this night.
High voices chatter
deep voices command
a party envelopes the street.
What is their essence?
What the fuck am I doing?
Why do I question the
ruckus and rousting of
folk following their lives?
There is a rhythm I follow
a melody syncopated,
when true it's good but
I dread the deadly offbeat.
As you breathe deeply
I worry every second,
perhaps the snores will stop,
the rhythm will falter
and I'll only hear the chatter
of parties.
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