The smoke curls <br />& coils <br /> <br />itself into <br />a? <br /> <br />as the air is <br />stained with jazz <br /> <br />& other rethorical questionings <br />even now <br /> <br />taking the shape of a heart <br />that comes together only <br /> <br />to fall - apart <br /> <br />as if to illustrate <br />her loneliness <br /> <br />in some text book <br />of the heart & its hurts. <br /> <br />The cigarette now <br />a perfect replica <br /> <br />of itself <br />(only in ash) <br /> <br />balanced delicately <br />on the edge of stolen <br /> <br />hotel ash tray. <br /> <br />The green crystal numbers <br />stare back like the eyes of a cat <br /> <br />on the tiny digital clock <br /> <br />making up time <br />as it goes along <br /> <br />Now in the silence <br />that contains only her <br /> <br />crying <br /> <br />the clock <br />oblivious <br /> <br />of such human pain <br /> <br />flicks like an airport <br />destination board <br /> <br />into <br />00: 00<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/around-midnight-2/
