Night Out

We spend the day dreaming

Of intoxication;

Anticipating a break from significance

And welcoming triviality-

When nothing can possibly matter.

We try to make ourselves look beautiful,

And when that fails-

We drink.

And as the music deafens our ears,

We fall into a wonderful stance,

A place where absolutely nothing matters.

But this stance I speak of- so premature!

And soon things quickly turn to manure,

Because what we love can turn to hate,

A vivacious start, a dismaying fate

Things start to matter.

People begin to reapply their perfumes

And aftershaves; with seeping, pungent

Odious smells.

As smiles turn to cries,

And our mouths fill with mire,

Should we have been satisfied with water?

We return to the world-

Shovels at the ready,

And we scoop and divide up the shit.

Then

Suddenly,

Everything matters.