hangover

the day after

sucked backwards down the
abysmal pitch of night

lucidity wanes, lost in a
spiral-smeared foresight

detritus soaked and splattered,
food for thoughts

taking the shape of elegy and
ghost-myth prayer...

there's a circle of stars in the 
forthcoming sky

almost there, almost...

  one day
  when you don't have to
  leave anymore

  say you'll stay

(image from rare-galaxy.com)