It washes over you
like a thick mist
in the night

These sounds,
pleading attention
not thought from mind

denied

all of its meanings
all of its forms
nothing now resembles
even-eyed scorn,

Once-distant revelries
come now, too close

twas distance that defined space:
twas space that was endless:
as time,

long drunken nights &
late-night encounters
with the glowing screen,
composing poems, surfing
the world,
becoming nauseas with the
scrolling of the screen,

needing smoke for the engine,
having none around -

a sore halo of cheap hops
clutches mercilessly the forehead
of a once-fealess warrior

of the word ...

lost
and,
forgotten ...