I wonder if they'll call me forthcoming.

For a moment I fell for
a hawk-nosed vixen
named "whatever"
with skin and nails and eyes and
opinions.

I was blind drunk on the music and
getting high on her figure which
I could easily discern under her striped
long sleeve
crew neck.

Apparently we were a sold out crowd.

All those desperate faces,
clinging together and
terrified of being alone
yet wanting to give off
cool, nonchalant, and
artistic
vibes.

But I thought, "you know

there is no shame in finding yourself
or trying to" so
I didn't hate them -
but they sure aren't my tribe
anymore.

I do believe that I've transcended.

I'm not afraid of the grit and the
dirt of this thing and
I've got a taste for real rest so
let the next ones have
the
night.

But it was pretty nice to see Conor Oberst after all these gin-soaked
years.