What?
Last night was my second meeting: the old people who don't need it, the young people getting started, the middle aged (me) trying to make one last run at it. The gay guy was there (kinda sad and cute) and another buff guy who seems very familiar (construction) and a bunch of others including the long hair who was running a kareoke and now seems to be running an art gallery (such freedom!).
Anyway, I stood up and mumbled and it was clear what I need to do (keep coming back).
Today's poem:
We feed off each other, constantly on the look out for another
taking the bait, we hook and turn and leap only to be cast off
running for another, taking the last change from the pocket
to fly off.
But where does the endless night fly, taking wing
the vaultless interior, dark but not uncomfortable,
that gives rest and ease and keeps us going,
the anchor, the tether, never
letting go.
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