VI

As the night rolls through the hills and valleys.

My mind wanders through the dead-end alleys.

Of a port side town as the snow floats down.

I use the rust covered railings to guide me.

The moon shines yellow through the avenue.

Memories drift like white covered roads.

They cling to my mind as the ice hanging down

from disjointed trees and wires.

The night throws us to the bars;

caged like hostages under fluorescent lights.

Out like cigarettes pressed into the bottom of an ashtray.

A voice of sages left for the fools to speak.