The conversation
         was way too long
Broken by only
         the the incessant
        cell phone calls
            she didn't answer

The bakery sign
          that said "closing"
had drooped when the tape
         had lost it's grip
adding insult to it's insinuations

In October's heat
    beside violated cotton fields striped of their virginity
     we once rode bicycles over legendary black belt reformations

       And as I sat on due
euphemism
at Ten **** Hall waiting
         on pending explanations
that never came . . .
    you emerged upon the path pending
          where all the Angels
were designed to walk

Your glass was hollow
    full of
       intriguing empty thoughts
    The glass shattered
         going the way
of a Hemingway novel
       Complete with the incompleteness that life
          pours salt into
the wounds of broken hearts
    and souls

The breaking shards
    created splinters of glass
           that hide forever in
the flesh of the moments

Yet we rub the emotions
    left on notice
as the addiction digs deeper
        into the psyche . . .
for pain is all that remains

and once again she emerged
     upon the path
within my "tick"
         the ghost
where Angels are left bound
         to walk