The Listening Times

These are the listening times
The last breaths of the night
We smoke our desperate lies (?)
Regard the ugly light of the morning
These are my morning thoughts
Everyone looks awful
We need to go to bed
This conversation’s never had
It can’t get out
Like postums (?)
Growing thick
Weaving on the ground
Everyone looks down
At a person or an ended shoelace
Tonight, we’ll set sail to the tropic of Capricorn
The kebab shop at the dock is open till the sun comes up
That is all