Friday, December 9, 2011

The moon hung huge and pink like bubble gum in the early dusk. Darkness waited on the edges to sink in.


I thought about yesterday’s words of acid burns and love stinging my lips. Love’s no boomerang kid. Don’t touch it.


Staring at the moon I thought, I've got something in my eye. Something I used to know.



I am heading to the bar soon, where guys sit on Friday night like a hatching promise, staring at each other’s lives through the glassy rim and knocking back shots like the world is ending, or beginning, or sliding by as they look out at the street.

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