DarkPoetry -|- WhoIAM -|- A man working in a window .(Thoughts after smoking poor weed.)

A man working in a window .(Thoughts after smoking poor weed.)

its is hard for me to ignore the cold this evening.
the plows have made three passes
still no one moves
still the snow falls.
snow banks

its is hard for me to ignore the cold this evening.
the drafts in my old house
my bedroom door shut tightly
my bedroom window open slightly to vent the smoke of cigarettes.
over flowing ash tray

and i look out of my window and see a man
working inside his home across the alley
at his desk.

note to self:
empty ashtray

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Comments on A man working in a window .(Thoughts after smoking poor weed.)

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On Friday February 22nd, 2008, carlosjackal (1650) writes:

Just brilliant. -Carl

On Wednesday December 5th, 2007, Zen (634) writes:

Awesome. I could write a long paragraph about how awesome this is. But I'm not.

On Friday November 30th, 2007, Pseudonynill (170) writes:

Stray thoughts associated with a quality that become a simple statement of what it reminds me of. Or you. I like it reminds me of that. Simple things I thought of that felt like the moment. Nice dude. Dude. do duh.

On Wednesday November 28th, 2007, WhoIAM (35) writes:

LOL, that was the best comment I have ever received, thank you.

On Wednesday November 28th, 2007, Lawless Fighter (45) writes:

HA HA. . considering it was my like. . tenth I've ever gicen out ha ha. . I must not be doing too awful bad at this heh

On Wednesday November 28th, 2007, Lawless Fighter (45) writes:

For some reason this poem. . .I don't know but i read it about 6 times. . .there is something about it that reminds me of a 50s gang drama. . .I just get the picture of a man in a striped suit with suede shoes sitting at his table with his gun in front of him. . .he's smoking and places them in the ash tray one by one and he sees a man across the alley in a brick building with a cracked window whose wearing a white shirt, suspenders and has thick black glasses working fervently at a typewriter and smoking a pipe. . .

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