a voluntary exile.

sunrise1Tonight I check into what was once home

on long crowded nights of excess and affection, longing and euphoria,

glimpses of the past that could have been one’s future

if only one had tasted wisdom as time came and went.

Now this former home lies, dark and hungover,

silent, frostbitten, out of time

as self-pity creeps in and one embraces its charms

while plotting to drown in sheer hedonism and abandonment.

It was then, in the comfort of solitude, that we read each other’s call

a random whisper sent out to millions,

all stainless steel and futuristic pseudo-luxury, a false start

rescued by our anonymous angel

in the shape of a cab driver.

for D.


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