my silent let go
by Daniel Wojciech
the ash trays fill up with longing and misguided hope
the jails fill up with bodies and souls
the shoes fill up with rain water
and there's something that keeps me
like when the sheriff caught me sleeping in my car
in the park by 76th, asking
where's your home?
and i had no answer.
writing this on the 5th floor of a hotel
of my married silence
intertwined with the reluctance of sleep
and pursuance of dreams deferred.
there isn't enough cigarettes for my passage
to death's risk:
the dream come true,
the okie doke of reaper vs. mortal man
the rope-a-dope of clown vs. depression
sometimes silence is enough
sometimes it gets easier
sometimes a flash light is all you need
sometimes the world keeps spinning,