Singly mingling around the milling crowd
filled and proud, empty
handed, headin’ out
toward empathy and the patio porch, settling
down, out
here, alone, the laughter vibrating
telephones, the air so
slow, doesn’t they all know
this neighborhood of sound?

Blinking headlights from up
on the hill, let’s us get
killed, just for the thrill, singing
harmonies in the stereo’d
key of drinks, driving, spilled, so
long, see you brother, hope
you have a fun trip home, no
call from any others in this
room, this rant, this rope.

Sofa sleeping postponed
dreaming, tomorrow’s on
the line. She says that she can see
her keys, still she cannot
get inside your mind, no, she can’t
get inside, don’t stop
the humming when they tell you
to pipe down, speak up, keep
drumming, even if
no one’s around.

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