The wind roared at high noon

And never seemed to cease.

Nor did the savage wind ever plan to decrease its rage.

At a standstill I watched the shadows go for a round of slap-face on the rooftops.

Persistent yet, we roamed the streets

Finding all the commodities for the cauldron.

A man came near and split in two

To fork the road.

Twelve O’ clock!

And the church bells rang to the rhythm of

The rocking chair as we sway to and fro for time.

Alcohol lay buried beneath the carpet

To insure that we wouldn’t forget the previous night.

Perplexed in time, only the end of the beginning

And vice versa.

…”16 shots,” “Hit this blunt,” “I need chronological order!”

The church bells faded on the horizon.

The wind struck

And it blew the whole world down this time.

As the beer cans fell to the balcony abyss below,

“Noise complaint! …better.”

Twelve O’ clock!

And the church bells rang to the rhythm of

The rocking chair as we sway to and fro for time.

Alcohol lay buried beneath the carpet

To insure that we wouldn’t forget the previous night.[media-credit id=7 align=”alignnone” width=”300″][/media-credit]