Spilt Nerve and Spilt Nights in Good Night Bad Morning Light

The atmosphere closes in around my temples.
I push my throbbing hands together
to feel my heart beat while my head pulsates
with the imprint of the last conscious hours
hanging over my cognizance
like a gyrating cloud,
leaving the night before
in a vaporous cloud of dope smoke,
hard kisses, and unfinished revelries.
I drown in the candor of a water-filled
Coca Cola cup, and chewed iced slipping
the slope of my throat, with a slick quick grin.
Traces of levity linger lightly on my being,
just barely visible to the attentive naked eye-
fleet quiet secrets slightly evident in the fluorescent lights
of the diner,
idling softly on my skin
as these discreet, sweet things
that hold promise often do.
Like hushed sighs
or eventful waning nights.
The laughter of old men engulfs me
as they sip their coffee in a circle
and share their sales, Antique Road Show,
tell their tales in tattered baseball caps
shoot hyperbolic fishing stories without aim,
with graying hairs, through thick frames.
I still haven't found what I'm looking for
but my brain jumps a mountain range...
and estranged children find comfort
in the smile I abandon in my wake.
A place where nostalgia and shadows
of little-known secrets play.
In distant pine trees and town's back alleyways
where I carved my hearts, shot spirits,
and graffitied my name.
Goosebumps rise,
and slow yawns patronize
my lively ways.
In the shallow light, I give into the ambiguous unknowns
with deluded ease.
In the clean soft morning light of the diner,
I find comfort in being deceived by naive
and simplistic surety.