Blithe refusals of party flyers
impel her exit
from a world now dead.
Delivered to the street,
her sneakers caress pavement
and the air
seduces her skin.

Sunshine like syrup
restores polish to a
light starved brain. She leaves behind
whispered revelations of
lightly held convictions.
Still she feels the echoed
waves of subsonic bass.

The morning is pregnant.
Friday night's worship,
sore and heated,
leaves a wash of fatigue
to syncopate against the ringing
in her ears. Dust soaks up
muscular acid; the bastard
son of tears.

She forges ahead and back
to her gasoline-fueled auto with her
substance-fueled body,
courting asphalt,
painted white lines and cigarette smoke.
Gravel bounces off her shoes.

reflected off the windshield
settles into the corners
of irides
already swollen
from midnight smiles.
Her dilated pupils
accept the new day.

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