Bathed
in the warm
glow of neon
seeping through
winds
chilled by Freon
Shadows rest here
never dancing
The floor hums
rhythms
through darkness
beneath a clattering
forty-five
voices
as I
sit alone
in the silence of
one
swallowed whole
by a series
of choices.
(Written 2.5 years ago during a lonely night at the Skylark Cafe shortly after moving to Seattle, while my wife was still in Upstate NY)
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