Untitled Mess. It Is Nearly 6pm

Welcome to the new age you said with a smile.

Lost lovers under street corner covers

will always learn not to kiss in the rain,
as whatever passion passes between their lips
will not discourage the reign of the precipitation’s pain.

You ran back off into the crowded pile.

Forgotten friends left at loose bar ends

will always learn not to drink alone,
as now they are mislaid and missing,
unknown in a city filled with others far from homes.

Through pint glasses and the dancing masses.

Back alley admirers lurk in amidst forlorn fires;

wavering flicks of flame still just about standing,
as they’re waiting to be tamed and taken home
to another bedroom masquerade, with someone they barely know.

I did not see your face again.