We Begin at the End

They take too long looking for warmth in days,
then scurry up into the night like froths
of white fluffy bitterness in a gentle haze.
The world is but crowds of suits and feet
and bunches of wobbly stoplights
stopping and going. Stopping. Going.


In A Heartbeat.

All senses lost in the gutters of habit,
they are but empty rooms in midnight hours
falling one by one into the moonlit pit.
Another day hence, everything was free,
they take too long, they scurry into the night.
We turned off the lights, crash!


then there's you and me.