At our party there is a man on stilts.
Holding the wires with his teeth he sings to us.
We are drinking and listening, our heads rolling unfettered
in the nicotine haze.
There are first experiences occurring and we watch, knowingly.
Names and faces fly
like soporific moths through the smoky air.
We are safe because we know
there can be no progression from the current state.
We look to one another, confident,
but yearning for uncertainty and its thrills.
And finally, we sleep,
awakening with regret,
with others we are unable to identify,
and with ourselves whom we hate the most.