From Untitled Poem:
Don’t ask me how it is that I’ve come here
and found myself sitting in this place,
a dark womb of cigarette smoke and ashtrays,
a tomb of pitchers of beer and pots of coffee.
It’s early still and the room is quiet,
the crowds are still tucked between sheets,
dreaming of riches and lovers they’ll never find.
And me, my voice low and rough,
too many cigarettes to keep my throat sore,
and my stomach rumbling for want of food
instead of endless pots of steaming coffee.
It is my my private decadence to be here,
to waste my mind, my time, and my body
on quiet moments of private sin.
Thanks for reading,