with the night’s old trick rainbow reflecting off the participation trophy we try our best to waddle past the open door to dreams of anonymous revenge

waiting for the final
misstep I stay inside
air conditioner ping
tink heavy dark air I
make spear points for some self
I wish I could discard
that sinking twist in the
gut deprive the fall of
all color but the game
gives up and talks about
dreams of cooking techniques
sneaks under floorboards after
brandy and cigars in
an old book and then
we may taste something new