In these brief, paused nights
The running after warm talks seems reasonable
An unexpected "how are you" seems valuable, desired
Humans are good at feeling lonely
Star-crossed long roads they pass
Wide bellied silence painted in their skulls
And often shoot guns in loving solitude
Often chased by that old ghost of impermanence
Often seek and find sorrow and keep them in treasured memories
Humans feel themselves at brief, paused, nights like these, perhaps most truly yet most silently
And when their lonely fingers, smooth over virtual keyboards to write replies to others on the other end of loneliness
They often pause
They become one with brief, paused nights like these
The air hangs about heavily,
Gloom in sweaty thickness,
Panting aloof, the blinding madness of stray dogs on a rebel midnight
One or two tobacco rolls burn in serene rhythm
The beatnik up and down of light-dark, light-dark
Books are read nonchalantly
And walls are stared at, blankness peers through the soul of souls
And manic memories of lost love
Find their way in
Unwelcomed, strong
Search for meanings seems laughable
Nothing makes sense
And greatly nothing matters
Humans on the loose
Beware
With their behemoth intelligence
They feel trapped
And tectonic giants strangle them with data
Humans
They feel they might have failed
Even after all these
In brief, paused nights like these