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Jul 2012
Hanging around the old cabaret,
where nighthawks steal glances
at the curators of tired eyes,
the walking dead take leave
of their senselessness
entering blurred reality

Someone calls for another round
shouting fire down his throat as

A dart nicks the narrow space between
two fates and falls to the floor
avoiding both,
leaving him in a rage

She pockets the change they left her
or forgot, while
laughs infuse the acrid smoke,
ricocheting into nothing
Zajan Akia
Written by
Zajan Akia  Long Island, NY
(Long Island, NY)   
1.9k
   Maitreyi and dj
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