Stranger.

Drape these curtains,
lay the crockery
and station our servers
- the banquet
breathes.

Quietly
under the hum of moist eyes
and ashamed sniffs,
skies tumble
from a hundred untampered glasses.
These bets on will.

Hard.
Rain pitter-patters on window
ledges,
bamboozles our brumal guests
and I smirk,
from a high-back chair
on the edge of infinity
staring at the jar
that holds the body
I once fucked
here
on this floor.

People
with thirty seconds to move,
before the psychosis takes over
and I pull tablecloths,
smash plates,
hide on the empty side
of a door,
suffering.

Gloaming,
I worship you
in dusk's execrable fashion.
Take my shoes,
throw them to the wall,
let legs give way
and cope and fall and face altercation
over,
and over...
in implacable moments, as these,
when there's no choice.
Some things even I can not control.