Uncategorized

in the crossroads

the young poet caterwauled to acoustic guitar

slamming out chords with brown hair in his eyes

white shirt and skinny jeans and espresso foam art

true love in a 16 oz. coffee cup

he smoked scented cigarettes for hours on end

the portable organ reverbed through the cold

europe crept out of hiding one evening a month

artists peddled their nightmareish wares

life spilled out on the streets

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s