Sunday, November 14, 2010

When midnight strikes and

Cinderella’s had one too many to recall that she

Had her pumpkin there all along,

We slink off into the black night.

Music echoes off of empty bottles drained by

Thirsty kids, too young to care about the implications of

Their actions or reactions or the

12% induced thoughts blurted out, in lieu of

A moment of silence.

Metal cans touch plush lips, they dream about

Kissing their neighbor on the cheek just to say

Hey, I love you, I think you’re ok.

Hey, are you ok?

And there are hands on hands and feet touching feet

Here's to falling in love for the seventh time.

Cheers to a life in which all aspirations lie in the

Graze of two lips, put your hand on his hips,

Bring her back to your place and then

Give him the slip.

Hands, feet, hips, lips, snap shots of

Bronx memories, or lack thereof,

Which haunt these walls that

hold us in, but keep us

Around, hanging on to each other

For one more night in the devil town.

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