from 3 great nights

Sitting on the slanted pool table; with $60 gone, in the same clothes from 14 hours earlier, and so reunited. I thumbed the edges of a couple books, a few plays, and a textbook of poetry. And there were seconds where it got quiet, and everyone listened to some literary genius's words being spoken. 

Radiohead playing too loud, and I wanted to curl up-feeling the pressure of so much inspiration that wouldn't BUDGE. 

So many things of greatness; it whispered "wow".
           So I met my same tan carpet for the countless late-night time, motionless and just...chilling out, as they moved about (upstairs). Laid on my back w/ legs propped; parked like a child. I listened to the low twattle of the boys' third guitar and wished the cork ceiling tiles were a moonlit sky, ...I wished I was high; because it felt high-above something all alone. 
Tomorrow I'd be sick. 


Because baby, I met my soulmate a long time ago. And nothing perfect ever happened.
Nothing happened.
I see him every other day, and he says "I love you" to her. And I walk everyday and say nothing at all. (Or, maybe way TOO much....?) Oh, Matchmaker, matchmaker. 

    SO then what next? You move on-and feel so fucking tragic for yourself...like hiding, like screaming, like...loving...Loving the unattainable. It's all lies for someone else's ears. (eh, but we survived).

And at night we realize there's Life still in this suburb city. It keeps surprising me.

I see my friend's faces in all those pictures of theirs; up on stage, with so much talent.

Some nights, those are the people I'm going home with, when no one really knows where each other goes home-and the memory of roaring applause-and amps-makes us awake, and ache, ...even closer to morning. 
I could memorize all your lovely faces and still forget to say hello, ....but its sorta our place. 
With the cake on that table we'd seen broken and repaired. Familiar chuckles in the other room. Tilted cap and bright scarves. Our dark cotton fabrics, and everyone else's tattoos.
           Goodbyes and gossip, and smelly strangers.
           "Floor party" at half past what it starts to feel like; hours before we think to check the time. 
Each guest billowing their space with such an "interesting, interesting", taste for whatever goes on inside those heads. I can't ever reach them all, or ever entirely share my own.

We're friends somehow-off the road, and it keeps us over this scene's decaying vibrance-into one another-missing it ahead of time. Where everyone is a little awkward, a little distant. A little ready to party hard....it's home shows and kept traditions. It repeats too far apart....
so fall too soon away. 

                  Look in every audience. And afterwards we'll all grow weary with reality bites, and take shots---Toast to Life! It'll bite. And I'll sorta wince. Swear under the breathe...everytime we shouldn't have driven, every story that gets repeated, and every text I know comes before doors @ 6:00. 

Another couple weekends in Bmore, where it goes in a rush and looks like a gush...ing smile thatll keep on lingering around the neck of stretch-cotton tshirts.
When Thurs morning makes for desperate and sleepy-when nothing specific makes nothing at all-when my soulmate is dead.

It'll all sorta be there.

I remember all those lovely friends long enough....Long enough to forget-that you and I have been here too long. You and I are moving in this world that someone else can really change. And yet, there's still so much time, and so much more (they say). We feel old too young.Let me just lie with my back on the floor...and imagine that we did everything we're promising. Someday it might be Austin.

Tomorrow it might be 70.

Daily headphones: Radiohead's "Romeo & Juliet", Lady Gaga's "Poker Face" and Alanis Morrisette's "Ironic"