Enclosed,
on Monday afternoons,
we lay side by side
within these insolent walls,
joining dissolute souls
that lay wasted before us,
and soon after us.

Like the other ephemeral
nocturnal life forms,
we are bound to procure refuge
to bridge the gulf between
daytime and nighttime
that speaks of separation between us.

We are already here,
where we have flouted
to be with the apathy of
intolerable distance
and pretense, of freeing ourselves

from this forward,
we call the patron
of impatient hours
and of tortured lives
to contain us,
cradle us,
with its tattered quilt
on Monday afternoons…