Friday, February 05, 2010


Tonight is
a verb.
To “night” is
a verb.
To spend, to thrive, insert
yourself in the unknown,
rebel, revolt, re
-verse the premises of day,
the light of reason with the amendments
of debauch, the codacils of defiance,
the bill of rights for deviants,
the shifting alliances of the hearse
and the brothel, the nurse
and the harlot, the praise of sin with
the virgin corpse. Gin
and tonic. The cognac dusk.
The grenadine of transition.
The Kahlua of sweet
desolation. Flesh a single malt

How will we night?
How were we will?
How night we were distilled
and transentient, sententious
and prevenient, contentious,
expedient, unrepentant and yet,
nonetheless, defiled.

The stylus of time makes

Impossible tonearms dance,
fulfilling the mumblements of prophecy,
while the thrill of cash
chases tequila plans.

Night and be-
night, quite and re-
quite. Morrow and tomorrow
in what petty pace
becrawl. Deny
what being cannot be,
the whole of nothing,
the night of all.

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