These rings under my eyes aren’t getting any less lonely.
Her face remained frozen with a look I had seen 15 years before.
Dinner was over and another night stood before me,
four hours to kill until I could fall asleep again.
I can’t be sure she’s real or any of them are.
All I can be sure of is the endlessness.
The smell of her hair.
Devils, devils dancing to sour tunes – recognize them?
You used to know them and will again.
If it’s such a tragedy how can it happen every day?