ashtray ballet

it's as if the dawn subsides
as the daily train tears down
the walls we built
between your home
             (my house)
and the silent dismay
of sleepless 4 a.m.'s
we insist on rewinding.
i laud its invasion
as we orchestrate
another ashtray ballet
atop your tattered sheets,
your legs half-cocked
like switchblades just beneath.
i whisper that i found
the fountain of youth
at the end of the tracks,
by the backstreets,
within the gates
of the neon messiahs
where we met.
but you're too busy
drowning out the dying embers
of dawn and last-call stogies,
you're too busy breathing
laundry and children.
so again
i guess i'm drinking
alone.

 

Reviews

[wolfshrew]

great flow
you conveyed a bitter truthfullness that easily held my interest.

[Jeff Bresee]

Ohh...a little to real for this old heart that has known too much reality. Great way to portray this. Very creative and effective.

[Legion]

The aftertaste always seems bitter and lifeless. An excellent way to express that. Kudos.