A Pint Low

Where did the day go
having silently retreated
under the gray sky of rain
The footprints all washed away

Right outside my window
I can still see it
like the lighted smoke
remaining after a firework
has expended it’s existence
on a hot summer night

I couldn’t get myself out of bed
so exhausted from dreaming
dark & faceless, couples coupling
clarifying from what position
they find release from themselves
& their histories;
the greater world outside

Meeting patchily in stolen rooms
weighted with secrets
the loudest whispers encircle
like scavengers

When I wake up
a pint low of blood to the brain
it shouldn’t be a big surprise
that I find things
a little disorienting
but as if my hands were covered in it
I cry out for reason

I’m told
that as a kid
I had to be dragged out of the house
never
kicking & screaming
but like a rock
or old sofabed

You spend enough time alone
a pint low of blood to the brain
you can’t rightly
call on that thing
to conjure up
a good enough reason
to step outside