in esoteric moments
we hide what might otherwise
be ours
In bars of things that are not necessarily
roadside attractions
We stumble upon ourselves
in dank rings left by anothers' beverage
 
and then
as much as we want to pretend
it's never enough to say
or speculate what ever might come to
pass
 
 
like an unfinished thought
we plummet
only to regain ourself
momentarily