sometimes four bare wallscan be like living in a room full of mirrors
and mirrors are not always friends
they whisper late at night
like white noise from speakers
like blue light on all night tv
sometimes bare walls defeat you
and you find yourself looking at the clock
it is behind the bar
and ticking towards closing
you are thinking about the walls
white like linen
white like death
it is fear that has you looking
for the true beauty of last call
your eyes move with the second hand
scanning the room full of laughter
and voices and smoke-type mirrors
you are afraid of going home alone
you start a conversation with the nearest lady
hoping it will never end
Copyright© michael dennis/ Pulp Press Book Publishers