Another cold Monday
and my mind wanders like a vagrant
waiting for the last crumbs of sunlight
to be swallowed by El Jefe.
When the final bits are consumed
I will be free to roam the darkness
with the working class vampires
who scavenge the night for sustenance.
Pouring strong drink
and inhaling thick smoke
as if it will fill the inner void
laughing as if the soul will follow.
With the sips come no knowledge
in the breath comes no life
inside the throng is no belonging
only the noise to stifle thought.
Grasping like a wraith at humanity
with hands that can lay hold of nothing
beyond this illusion lies a formless void
yearning for the Words ‘Let there be light’.
Another cold Monday
and mi Jefe has just wiped his mouth
but I will find a quiet place to talk
to my new friend with the nail-scarred hands.

Copyright 2000, Property of Steve McKennon and
Tropical Snowstorm Productions

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