98/365

we dubbed
them monsters
whilst living
in new york,

on cold autumn nights,
well into a jukebox set
with tecates and tequila
at the cherry tavern
near alphabet city
roaming the streets
looking for the next
dark hole
pulsating
with music
to invite us in.

a point of no return
a tight rope act
on the edge
of reckless rage
or was it despair?

the next morning- groggy-
“did my monster come out?”
wondering
if it was time
for shame
or relief.

the monsters
were real
and threatening
in those days.
we locked them up
afraid of what they
might reveal
about the internal darkness.

but even monsters age
laying listless,
now,
in their cages
the door wide open
as we try to lure
them out for
exercise and socialisation.

does your monster
curl up in the corner
nervous to be
another cliche?