Night,
Gloom,
Hidden worries,
Exposed like negative photos,
Friday Night,
Old frail men horrified, detached from the world in claustrophobic bungalow coffins,
mr and mrs bourgeois are drinking their chardonnay and watching their high brow imported sitcoms, dying carelessly.
We stroll round on the prowl, a divided pack
Steering clear of fights left, right and center
Parks stretch out across our weary feet
Alleys meander into trouble
Danny's got a stiletto blade, if only to
Exacerbate bad 8 o'clock premonitions
Hour's n hours
Till the syrupy sleep
Hour's n hours
Of unison cars, jewelry and terrorism
Riles us all
Night comes heavy down
Bringing blockades
And otherwise some safe haven in a good place in a terraced temple, barefoot/drunk/subdued
in this unfamiliar setting, the unknown pretty girl perches at the foot of her bed inspecting us all relentlesly.
We see out the week
To this climax
I certainly need a cigarette and some sleep,
For tomorrow is Saturday
6 days to go...yay!

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