Life’s too short to spend beneath blankets
In soft colors
With Kenny G
And chamomile tea.
No more long nights staring at the ceiling
when there are stars to see instead.
Hand me a glass with a ripe curve
Fill her halfway with something gold
Drink with me to our next big promise we’ll forget by morning.
Wear flipflops so we can feel the earth
while it’s still warm
Leave your blankets.
(But take your passport.)
Grab all the coins you have from different places
Som and Yen and Dinar, too.
With me, you never know:
Maybe we’ll wake up on the moon-face tundra of Mongolia.
Or on a hammock in Mauritania.
Murphy’s Bar in Galway.
Maybe in a loft above Manhattan.
Or on the night train to Moscow.
Grab sharp edges
and a rocky shoal
and an ocean always changing
we don’t need no goddamn railing.
Let’s find the horizon.
And put it behind us.