every night

the moon slurs, smiles

leering compliance, consenting

out of the corner

of her face.

at midnight,

I am less, after just one more test.


regretted by the bashful

sun, at midday, his light lets learning in

from a drunk,

swallowing sex — drinking down below

all morals, creating cause, causing effect,

from all unwritten words, learned, taught, spoken, now unlearned,
in the lush lavished unloved love of leaving after love.
sinking in sleeping, in thoughtlessness, in godlessness, in this.


Thoughts of a romantic on a bar stool

Chasing confusing conversations through a perplexing patron performing a grand

symphony, dancing around the idea that we all precipitate ideals, intertwined in

the vastness of human decency, which struggles below the weight of each word,

willingly wasteful, during listless listing,

slip and sip to

life’s many intricacies as my illustrations

interpret illusions on behalf of our subconscious, detailing the horizon, as chasing

the light in the day that you can never capture, before birthing the benevolent

breaking of beliefs, with thoughts of thirst to lust, to love, to long for all that can

not be between you and me.


Why you should drink slow

anyone who makes a coaster


is a friend of you and


yet in between your draining


your stirring speech is


and then you perch

In a performing presence

presenting your questions of hell

you try to confirm your reservations

With a sad proclamation.


We all go out like we all come in we all go out alone.


Craig McCarthy’swork has appeared in The Normal Review and other national periodicals.

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