Before Promises was Solitude
After Promises came Death
Minus Salvation.
I felt the smog
Descend my
Being
And remembered
Old poems.
Dickinson,
Eliot.
Ordered for a Memory.
And a shot of Cappuccino
In that purple predictable
Coffee Shop.
Without You
I add this.
Yes, I add.
Melancholy now do visit me.
I ramble, I sing.
Come memory.
Do.
And this death of
All recollections.
This silence of old voices.
Bleak.
Like Death I tell you.
After the Death.
I waited.
Brown, damp, unsure
In an Old Book.
With a new Silence.
I was born
