empty glass Amber
chilled steel tracks lead to Shanghai, under the worn heels of my maroon leather shoes I picked up at a shady market in Paris,
wondering what hairline fracture of a social group I've stumbled in on, and where this familiar dizzy place is.
caught eyes with a drunken casino boat captain who told me about his past love... I end up in this place. I know I can trust it since I'm here.
enter a stranger, makes these cats feel a bit uneasy, forced to open up and shake out some of their same old stories,
like dodging bullets blind, words I've heard earlier, surely the morning before last.
endlessly searching for the dusty sapphires of old souls, through thick air that reeks of spent gunpowder fairy tales.
shallow promises from twenty-something-middle-aged powder searchers at 4am, or 7am. and up again for another hollow word on their soul,
cotton black socks wet, rather be listening rain on a thin tin roof. fingertips on the grain of a glowing old oak farmhouse kitchen table,
somehow misplaced, fits right into time here. a comrade I suppose. light reflects off melting ice in an always empty glass.
once the attention fades, up the fire escape,to the abandoned insane asylum rooftop, catch the first sun pierce into this muggy Savannah eve.
follow her home. absinthe blue flame with a tattooed Italian barmaid from New Orleans, her mastiff eying me closely while I drift away into numbers under her sheets.
today's tomorrow I'm swimming with gators in the broken levee mud for another dance with amber-tinted questions.