There should be suns and filament clouds
Keening buildings and a rapture
Of hitherto unknown knowledge
A reveal of all that one should have done
Like a conversation with Fellini or Rilke, or Derrida — the bunch of us in a room with Joni Mitchell
Phones on, great laughs, scotch and smoking, everyone shooting video and texting whomever is in the twilight
It turns out I’m no more forward than I was at the end of the Harry Potters
Life is still more brushing the teeth than brushing the stars
The room is quiet but the exhaling of a radiator
There’s only little me here
Hearing a red eye on approach
Wondering what the fuck else must be done before the lights are out forever
I’m a challenge tonight
She breathed out in her grey voice
Nails tapping on her thigh
A glance out the window
In the lights on a passing car
The trees twisting in a witches dance
She breathed us all in
Let us trickle out of her nostrils
And back into a puddle on the table
She got up
Walked out
Her enviable backside
The last thing seen
