Thursday. 
... the prospect of daylight
tomorrow…

noises
on the second floor,
the repetitive tiled hallways
echo

It hurts, hurts.
Even deep Mingus on well-traveled tapes,
even Nocturnes...          no use, no use.
Bloody Camel stubs in astray

1329 Boulevard
can't forget
bone pulled from bone,

ancient practice, barbarism...

Another sun unwinds behind another smothered sky;
August opens slowly:
An ache of air impossible to breathe.

Ten before twelve.

One into two goes soon,
                            quick a click.

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dVerse Poets Pub
Meeting The Bar
~ Pick Up The Pieces ~
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dverse-nightime-final