I know,
when night falls over your city
the doors of memory open, one by one.
Over the threshold seeps out
the sorrow drowned in memory.
You sink
into memory’s mournful sea.
Down with you sink
your boats of happiness.
You keep yourselves afloat
in drink, or in the tavern.
Or,
whoever has no tavern
wants to drown instead
in that other torment called the inbox,
hoping for some small release.
I know,
when night falls over your city
you go on writhing
in the pain of having and not having.
See more like this
