Be Gone

The night calms me.
Something about it's effortless oblivion, I suppose, 
that leaves me safe and 
lulled. 
Between Barthes and Beauvoir and a whole lot
of breathlessness, I catch myself standing
alone amongst the flappy clotheslines on
our grey-chip roof. 
Staring out into the skymiles of
inky nothing, I forget
to feel the weight
of things as they are.
It is nice.






On a scarcely related note:

Be good, very good, and,
very
very
gone.

Yes, be gone.