Second Thoughts
I’m not thinking clearly.
It’s the whiskey breath, the cigarette smoke.
Clouding and crowning my head.
Like an inner-city infrastructure,
Photochemical smog, and factory building fumes
Choking, clogging the respiratory tract
But, this dearth of feeling, this asphyxiation is simply
A momentary chagrin… Lack of strength
Or is it?
I’m working 3 to 8--you’re fuming
Both angry, afflicted
Operating with battered, estranged souls
I’m exhausted, tired of running from bloodhounds
Scent-triggered, animalistic canines
Gambling on pre-evaluated Real Estate
That may never reach the market
You cannot buy, or sell love; You cannot revalue a decrepit heart