at night

nights spent with a book
or a computer (that infernal machine)
watching a mystery
unfold economically
in the eyes of my cats
sometimes they speak to me
and there’s always music
I flirted with the idea
of leaving it all behind
one ride away from destiny
because I know
in a past life I was a priest
or a monk, drunk with solitude
now I’m just a peasant
half drunk with loneliness
and we all know
it’s always dark
in the northeast
but it’s quiet here
and I think
that’s quite all right
I’d rather live a
thousand nights like this
than one more day
of questioning, running
to and from
the normal life
to be average is
the greatest sin





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