the heart of Friday night

Bring me the head, John,
There are ghosts in my bed,
There are ghosts in my head,
and I cannot find the door.

Simmer the street-bound righteous
‘Til there’s nothing left but the heads
and the idea they rode in on.

If you argue with restlessness, you run out of time.
Like stealing feathers from a bed that isn’t yours.

Drink you are medicine.

Storyward and sideways, spit
the research secondary and otherwise.

It’s all controlled burns, and noisy
Dispositions for the homebound.
Take a taxi if you can’t stand the artifice.

Recommended check-out time is 1am.
There might be an extra half-hour,
for the exceptionally worthy
or reckless.

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