Starting Mode

Long-haired men drive us crazy Warm hands clench beer cans, Hastening transiting consciousness. She's '96 in jeans and flannel, I'm someone's fleeting daughter. Let's not fastfoward. Smoke-induced nebulous room, We're shortsighted, looking far beyond Gaudy moon-stroked glass, pavement. We dissipate, you and I. Our soles proceed our souls, Heart-beats against linoleum, no longer cold. We danced to bad music, My freeform flail, you, less tense A million stares upon us, disregarded. This is starting mode.