the thick night is so quiet, the spinning spider pauses,
the angel stops whispering for a moment—
The secret night could already be over,
you will have to listen very carefully—
You are never going to know which night’s mouth is sacredly reciting
and which night’s recitation is secretly mere wind—
–Kazim Ali
Sunday Afternoon
I wasted today on last
night
Suggesting rooftops
ciggys
as an excuse to kiss
girls
Blowing smoke into the
skyline
wasting breath as best I
could
the Only proof some busted
brain cells
and hours Spent circling
around desire
Watching the sun rise in
our socks and
sleeping through McDonalds
breakfast
lingering in the space
between the walls
of day and night, not
quite existing at all.
This room seems so much
quieter now
that everything is gone;
drifting off, away
or to some place better,
empty handed
and heavy-eyed, unsure if
the lightness
of last night was worth
today’s weight
the fan spins, nothing
changes
but the clock. A girl
unbuttoned my
jeans last night but that
doesn’t matter
now. What does all this
movement have
to do with happiness?
Whose to say
guilt and please don’t
deserve each other?
You can justify just
about anything
Just give it some time.
