It’s late,
The streets patrolled by
The homeless and the sleepless.
The moon is giving it her all,
Obscured by an inch of fog
And cityscape glow.
I feel like an anchorless shadow.
One more cigarette,
One more shot of espresso,
Will make me feel whole.
I know when it’s time to roam,
Whether to weather the storm.
It’s time to blow back home.
Our love keeps us connected,
Kneeling at the starting line,
The beginning starts at the end.
I’m listening to the soft glow of jazz,
With a green bottle in my hand,
With nervous ambition in my skull.
Hours after noon are when I’ll stand.
Pull myself from the security of my bed,
Dressed for yesterday with empty hands
And blood pressure in my veins.
One of us may have made a grave mistake
But I have never been so sure
Of anything in all my ambitions.
Benjamin Jenkins 