Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2019
Standing up straight
but like falling through door
after door after open
cellar door,
bodega cashier
men who know me only
as the sad and lonely two
AM bacon egg cheese
two bud light  
guy who seems off
but leaves a tip,
this trip through new york
can't be more than delirium
wrapped in tin foil
and forgotten dreamscapes.
Where are the mountain vistas.
Chase Graham
Written by
Chase Graham  DC
(DC)   
281
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems