I often write when I am inside a lounge or small club with tables. The atmosphere is so charged that it becomes inspiring. This is what I came up with on Friday night at The Meeting Place here in DC.
The Meeting Place
Attached to many
Too many to count
So many strokes that
His tip lost count
A state of less than
Possibility of love
No deliverance in sight
Citing authorship of promise keepers
Remembrance of lustful emptiness
Joined by lies
accompanied with afternoon brunch
Menu: Doubles and Salt-Fish
The sweet, pungent smell of meaningless sex
Meaning less than salvation or
Greater than pleasure
Meanwhile, life is still in motion
While his brain cells soak in a glass of
splashed with cranberry
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