stand alone objects

we are the party people.
yes, our parties are search parties
or political parties (clubs, really,)
but when the candles blow out
because the rain is falling so fast that the atmosphere follows it right to the ground—right through the curtains—
we don't stop dancing.
we make a list for leaving.

we draw letters from our elbows to the tip of a pen,
the spiral of thought is infinite in graphite.
intangibility set aside,
it's shuffled into a duffel bag,
hesitatingly zippered through the dark,
leaving space empty and desolate,
leaving with a sigh,
leaving nothing but what's left.