[sound of crickets on a Friday night]

Sounds of crickets on a Friday night
as we emulate focus groups
and great exchanges of cathode ray addiction.
As words seek out eyes,
and eyes seeking out the similarity
of others in a tiny corner of this space.
Imagining the Great Plasma Cycle
and drinking provided coffee
just to laugh out loud
or risk a revealingness
about the real lives
and real jobs and real husbands and wives
and real loneliness
deified by the Patron of our music.
Chosen names like robes we wish we had sometimes
or just manifest extensions
of a psychological cornerstone.
Everyone wants to be loved properly,
feeling through threads.
A belonging kind separated
by geography
and connected with synchronized fondness.
3am i am reaching out
with a cloud on my tongue.