walk home

A poem I'm not too sure about

my bare feet thud the blue paved city streets
in the breath between night and early morn
the bare dark eyes of the houses reproachful


the bass grows dimmer the more i pace
I am glad to be on my own


A thousand yet no years old
the solitude crushing after the sweaty bodies
and the hot stink of liquer

they tell me this is dangerous.

Sober.


The stars and the starlings are out
I have never felt more myself