A bowl
Just a bowl
Empty but for a rotting pear
and the core of a once green
apple
The shadows pass over this table
as the setting sun drifts into
the abyss of an Autumn sky
Darkness now
The bowl all but vanishing
in the solitude of a moonless
transgression
The bottle
Oh yes, the bottle
I can see it's outline
in the forgotten drag
of the day's last cigarette
Amber solace to sooth
a tortured mind and numb
a jaded soul
Until morning...