Come Outside

Come outside
for coffees so gentil
they could be tea
forgotten overnight.

There are no whores here ...
gone with the sunrise.

Just the fall holding hands
with another Sunday ...

"Clouds are just water"
he said under his breath.
Oh, Ignorance,
what soft comfort.

"And cigarettes are just clocks."
Our time here is running out.
Soapbox Artist: collecting art & literature of the worst kind