Bats, moons, beer

They laugh in hearty wood tones. A cigarette lingering up through  my writing room. The doors are open. THE DOORS ARE OPEN! And the moon. did you see the moon?! Oh, rising like a ship with fierce sails. An open mouth. The O in the middle of a daisy. Pat says she’s the closest she’ll be for the next 30 years. I want to touch her. Like all the caverns we’d walk through as children and I never touched the walls like the other kids because you’d ruin it. You’d ruin it for every one they said. But it would not ruin her – if I touched the edge, my finger already has a paper cut.

2 beers down, a band playing I’ve never heard before and the bats fly around the night with their fat bodies, short wings. They use waves to capture bugs.

I’m sure they are wondering where I am. But they are content and I am not missed. And I am content and writing this.

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