I spill my guts to a wine-drunk evening. Now that’s 
a party. The table is set. 
The stars are introducing themselves.
The stars are taking off
their coats. I am trying to remember
the difference between objects—
did the cat or the bag
let out? And which am I to you
tonight: setup or punchline or laugh
track. If I tell you my secrets
will you turn them loose?
Loosen your tongue, darling, lose
the attitude. We haven’t got all night.
The music is dead
already; the guests are tired of dancing.
I am tired of holding you
in. Nausea is a hell
of a drug, a glass at the edge of the bar.
Potential without motion. We stand at the railing
waiting to be pushed.