wednesday night

It's one of them nights, you know? Refrigerator buzz, coffee table whiskey, some papers and pens and smokes and shit. A walk around the block, and then again but the other way. And just where is the moon? Which brings us back to the beginning; one of them nights where we're free from the pull and the grand scheme, the creepiness of how we all fit in together and show up at certain times in certain places and say hello and sit down. Come tomorrow the weight will be back, the refrigerator buzz will mesh with the grid, the whiskey will be dry, the smokes will be trashed, the papers will be torn and the pens will begin to tease. But tonight, with words written and conscience cleared, I will lay in bed, suspended from it all, my dick in my hand.