if we just keep on talking

used the night as a cover to notice what typically got missed. the glass church windows sparked like a million tiny fires when the streelights bleed through. got home from the job and worked out my drunkness.

the steam poured out of a bricked up pipe like music from a trumpet, to fan and disperse. crept up on a woman, watched her rearrange her purse and clutch at her car keys. heard her sigh of relief upon realizing the shadow was smaller and whiter.

there is the frustration in it, yes. but it is more the empathy that stings. the "so close and -- yet -- so far away."

the muscles that tensed when those words were spoken clenched again, and because we hold such hard associations you know it's the jaw. if only we knew all the things we needed to know.

and the light still flickers
and the fridge still hums
and the night still beckons
and i walk on