Tallahassee

Tallahassee

When the hands of the clock

are flipping you off,

its face a twisted smile,

and escape to the bottle

has drowned the words

that once intoxicated you.

When lust is merely a metaphor,

love a long distance call

and your voice has turned

to autumn leaves

that crackle under foot.

That is when the night

becomes only darkness

and the call of that bottle

fills the spaces in between

the sunlight.

SMG

Sometimes there’s just no poetry and...

Sometimes there’s just no poetry

and…

you sit and watch the clock and the

steady movement of the hands slo-

wly reach  out  in search  of a drink
is  as  close  to  love as  you can  get
lost in the faces of strangers as they
pass  by  on  the  street signs speak
foreign words and  remind  you of
how far you are from home is only
a memory fading like bright colors
in the sun faints  again  at the  app-
roach of the darkness does not care
that you are alone in this room wat-
ching the hands of the clock.

SMG