A man dreams
midnight, sheltering
sultry bedfellows
beauties, sing,

“X to the 9,
leave it all
behind, sail
as one, to
the none,”

I stop and think,
of days in the drink-
of mirrored brews,
these tears of old,
shed and trodden

Days in the black,
feel so very
red- each wasted
moment, arterial
fed. Toss, and
midnight exegesis;
a man
dreams, midnight…