Monachopsis, Pt. 2

[Spoken Word]
My Vanishing Act
When I got sick of the bar and I sometimes did, I had a place to go
It was a tall field of grass in abandoned graveyard
I didn't consider this to be a morbid pastime
It just seemed to be the best place to be
It offered a generous cure to the vicious hangover
Through the grass I could see the stones
Many were tilted at strange angles against gravity as though they must fall, but I never saw one fall although there were many of those in the yard
It was cool and dark with a breezе and I often slept therе
I was never bothered
Each time I returned to the bar after an absence, it was always the same with them: "Where the hell you
Been? we thought you died!"
I was their bar freak, they needed me to make themselves feel better
Just like, at times, I needed that graveyard