retreat there is no retreat
chained in by conscience
desperate to be done with it.
spirits who like spirits
challenge the curfew
drink into late evening.
there nothing here for a drying soul?
there is nothing here for a crying soul.
is made and unmade with listless lying.
will beckon us to while time away
over the edge
last arid experience
in liquor and loud laughter.
dying week elbows an unwilling body
some sort of sense of it.