All of the road bumps, light.
Hard on the bare plastic.
Light in the dregs of nowhere.
One dim street lamp, to the next.
Idealism rocketing around.
Amphetamine, reaching light-speed.
With the bumps, the rumbles, the cognitive jumbles.
Spirits living high, hopeful.
Backpack rattling away with needed fuel,
A little fire in the ever-night.
Crackling, burning, smoke rising high.
Laughter breaks the silence,
Half-drunken vigour, ruling.
Into the darkness, one small step.
Music in my ears; base heavy, rattling.
Farm-grass beneath the feet of dozens
Lighting the fires of careless youth.
Alone amidst the crowd.
A few friends beside, nothing more,
Not to crack such a fleeting consciousness.
Pull tabs, pulled;
Bottle tops, popped.
Chaos lingering, unperturbed.
Sexual laughter, tension, aching in the air.
A wish to place ragged hands anywhere.
I sat, jumper hanging loosely from my back.
Out of sight, out of the fire’s irreverent glow.
A few hugs, but even those –
Wrong; written to fail.
Down: one, two, three, four, five, six-
Time nothing but an illusion,
A construct in the fragility of existence;
Within the wood-smoke, the midge bites.
Truly alone, despite the crowd.