A parade downstairs and
you're not invited...
The stain of all things
cult status-
Sitting alone, in the woods
chain-smoking cigarettes
Like the senseless aftermath of a
battle ground...
Up at 5 A.M-
drinking by yourself when
everyone else is
passed out on couches...
beds...
floors...
And the peach sunlight starts to
pierce through the blinds....
Closing time-
mopping up spilled beer and
putting indigo earrings in
the lost and found...
The sleepy rolling credits
of a film and
exiting the pensive theatre...
Hours of images fleeting in your
peripherals...
Standing in an empty Time Square
devoid of car sirens and people...
All those faces you've met or the places you've been-
That abandoned bus stop at 5 A.M
It's a diatribe between now and
eternity